by

Shakespeare, Sonnet 23

 
As an unperfect actor on the stage 
Who with his fear is put besides his part, 
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage 
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart, 
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, 
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay, 
O’er-charged with burden of mine own love’s might. 
O let my books be then the eloquence 
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, 
Who plead for love, and look for recompense 
More than that tonge that more hath more expressed. 
 O learn to read what silent love hath writ; 
To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.
 -William Shakespeare, Sonnet 23

Interesting to read this in light of McLuhan. Shakespeare seems to juxtapose the written and spoken word.