WfKRfGWiAni9bY9k/sXgBFt4ge4= MCwCFB0M62GxrrxMGm7qfBt8R+Zv4YuIAhRvQH1DkgAdtnDQIOYOg07srWhaiA== CN=Doug Tidwell, OU=developerWorks, O=IBM, L=Research Triangle Park, ST=North Carolina, C=US MIIDQTCCAv8CBDj6LR4wCwYHKoZIzjgEAwUAMIGFMQswCQYDVQQGEwJVUzEXMBUGA1UECBMOTm9y dGggQ2Fyb2xpbmExHzAdBgNVBAcTFlJlc2VhcmNoIFRyaWFuZ2xlIFBhcmsxDDAKBgNVBAoTA0lC TTEXMBUGA1UECxMOZGV2ZWxvcGVyV29ya3MxFTATBgNVBAMTDERvdWcgVGlkd2VsbDAeFw0wMDA0 MTYyMTE0MDZaFw0wMDA3MTUyMTE0MDZaMIGFMQswCQYDVQQGEwJVUzEXMBUGA1UECBMOTm9ydGgg Q2Fyb2xpbmExHzAdBgNVBAcTFlJlc2VhcmNoIFRyaWFuZ2xlIFBhcmsxDDAKBgNVBAoTA0lCTTEX MBUGA1UECxMOZGV2ZWxvcGVyV29ya3MxFTATBgNVBAMTDERvdWcgVGlkd2VsbDCCAbgwggEsBgcq hkjOOAQBMIIBHwKBgQD9f1OBHXUSKVLfSpwu7OTn9hG3UjzvRADDHj+AtlEmaUVdQCJR+1k9jVj6 v8X1ujD2y5tVbNeBO4AdNG/yZmC3a5lQpaSfn+gEexAiwk+7qdf+t8Yb+DtX58aophUPBPuD9tPF HsMCNVQTWhaRMvZ1864rYdcq7/IiAxmd0UgBxwIVAJdgUI8VIwvMspK5gqLrhAvwWBz1AoGBAPfh oIXWmz3ey7yrXDa4V7l5lK+7+jrqgvlXTAs9B4JnUVlXjrrUWU/mcQcQgYC0SRZxI+hMKBYTt88J MozIpuE8FnqLVHyNKOCjrh4rs6Z1kW6jfwv6ITVi8ftiegEkO8yk8b6oUZCJqIPf4VrlnwaSi2Ze gHtVJWQBTDv+z0kqA4GFAAKBgQD565xlw4WYYbOxHbSTS4kl4xQh9bOAIawU+A30ex4q758MKy1t 4eX1QCDRKrxFr/bY3JsOGI6Nd6afT9FAn++2uK9yWegTSmM6aiAqmb0Eiybf50q7daX55ycr/5IZ tLKJqNhJznnUvkqZQ2ce+6slau1J8cw7yALDZJhzfFlhHzALBgcqhkjOOAQDBQADLwAwLAIUZUJD Ydoysr2us1eZ9p6xRwEZYnoCFC97/v+w6FIyM+KgDDAgK9LYxN/n Shakespeare William British 1564 1616 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, Coral is far more red than her lips red. If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun, If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks. And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound. I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress when she walks, treads on the ground. And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.