New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
As every alien pen hath got my use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time;
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
   Make thee another self for love of me,
   As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

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