New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect,
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud:
That sin by him advantage should achieve,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scap'd this sorrow,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
O! let me, true in love, but truly write,
Though in thy store's account I one must be;
O! love's best habit is in seeming trust,
The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
   Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
   Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.'

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This document (source) is part of Crummy, the webspace of Leonard Richardson (contact information). It was last modified on Wednesday, June 13 2012, 20:00:46 Nowhere Standard Time and last built on Wednesday, October 26 2016, 07:35:03 Nowhere Standard Time.

Crummy is © 1996-2016 Leonard Richardson. Unless otherwise noted, all text licensed under a Creative Commons License.

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