New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame!
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
That by this separation I may give
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
Thy self thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
And in this change is my invention spent,
And suit thy pity like in every part.
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Where I may not remove nor be remov'd.
