New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

Against my love shall be as I am now,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem,
A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes--
Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarm'd.
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
By those swift messengers return'd from thee,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers.
   And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

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