New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
The fairest votary took up that fire
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,
That you are you, so dignifies his story,
O! what a mansion have those vices got
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
To make some special instant special-blest,
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
   And him as for a map doth Nature store,
   That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

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