New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
I have no precious time at all to spend;
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
What thou dost foist upon us that is old;
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
Even such a beauty as you master now.
Thy self thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
   Their images I lov'd, I view in thee,
   Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

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