New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
When in the chronicle of wasted time
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And like unlettered clerk still cry 'Amen'
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
O benefit of ill! now I find true
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
All this away, and me most wretchcd make.
