New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
And with his presence grace impiety,
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
And for that riches where is my deserving?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong.
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n I fear,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
