New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
Against my love shall be as I am now,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify,
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
What merit do I in my self respect,
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.'
