New sonnets from Shakespeare.
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When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye:
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
If it be not, then love doth well denote
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
How can it? O! how can Love's eye be true,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
And stretched metre of an antique song:
   But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
   That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

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