New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
Your love and pity doth the impression fill,
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
O! how shall summer's honey breath hold out,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted,
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
O! though I love what others do abhor,
The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
