As you liken it

In Competition No. 2885 you were invited to write a sonnet beginning ‘Shall I compare thee to a [trisyllable of your choice]’.

A competitor emailed to ask if I’d meant a single trisyllabic word or a three-syllable phrase. I meant the former but perhaps that wasn’t clear so I allowed both.

Objects of comparison ranged from ocelot to shaggy dog, from Shakespeare play to Theresa May. This was a phenomenally popular comp and produced a dazzling performance all round. I’ve squeezed in seven winners, who take £20 each, but there could have been many more — Ray Kelley, Philip Roe, Douglas G. Brown, Rob Stuart, Frank McDonald and Noel Petty, to mention just a few. Hugh King’s cockapoo scoops £25.
 

Shall I compare thee to a cockapoo?
Thou art less tousled, less importunate.
Thou dost not slaver when thy food is due,
Nor lick thy parts, nor shameless seek a mate,
Shaming thy master, in some publick place.
No moonward howls of thine my sleep disturb,
Although thy midnight yelp were no disgrace
Shouldst thou perchance wish not my will to curb.
Yet temper in our spanieled cur is meek
Compared to thine when things teats up have turned
As when I soused thy pod and thou didst wreak
Thy wrath in words that thou shouldst not have learned.
I go compare in vain, for by my troth,
Fair wife and motley mutt, I love you both.
Hugh King
 
Shall I compare thee to a stethoscope?
In truth I long to feel thee ’neath my vest,
Yet tracing o’er my skin to have a grope
Thy touch is icy on my fever’d breast.
Thou hast my heart, yet I can only guess
At thy inconstancy when we’re apart,
For other breasts have felt thy cold caress,
Methinks at times thou dost not give a fart.
In sickness and in health, when in my bed,
Thy trousers are the place thou keep’st thy brains.