New sonnets from Shakespeare
Two every five minutes

I grant thou wert not married to my Muse,
Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less:
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That is so proud thy service to despise,
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
From heaven to hell is flown away.
   My love is as a fever longing still,
   When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover

In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
But makes antiquity for aye his page;
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
But were some child of yours alive that time,
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd,
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover
Who is it that says most, which can say more,
And I am still with them, and they with thee;
   And mock you with me after I am gone.
   If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,