New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
O! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Mine appetite I never more will grind
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
At first the very worst of fortune's might;
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.