New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
And that which governs me to go about
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
Supposed as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
And husband nature's riches from expense;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
I make my love engrafted, to this store:
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' costs,
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
A god in love, to whom I am confin'd.
   But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
   To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

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