New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

But be contented: when that fell arrest
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
Which labouring for invention bear amiss
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most;
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
   For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
   Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

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