With some class vocabulary on Shakespeare's sonnets I must wrote my own.
Shalt I believe all that I hearsay
maybe canst I survive the day;
dost you believe the untrimm'd
whose words are stirr'd.
the beauteous of their songs,
rehears'd though their own ears,
mayst only be a rondure
of their own life's alure.
Don't forget the bequests
or your very own largess'
earned in the threescore of youth
with your couplement south.
the eye of heaven still hot burn...
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