New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
The other two, slight air, and purging fire
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right;
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
Never believe though in my nature reign'd,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Or, being wrack'd, I am a worthless boat,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.
