New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

O! lest the world should task you to recite
That having such a scope to show her pride,
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
O! how shall summer's honey breath hold out,
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Although I swear it to myself alone.
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
Beated and chopp'd with tanned antiquity,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From his low tract, and look another way:
   Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
   As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

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