New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

SONNET CMXX
The other two, slight air, and purging fire
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Without this folly, age, and cold decay:
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
Doth half that glory to the sober west,
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,
To change your day of youth to sullied night,
   For we, which now behold these present days,
   But weep to have, that which it fears to lose.

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