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For the Sonnets
Bill the Bard
Pity the world
Thou that art now
From fairest creatures
we desire - increase
the world's fresh ornament
That thereby beauty's
rose might never die
or else this glutton be
And only herald
But as the riper
should by time decease
to the gaudy spring
His tender heir might
bear his memory
Sonnet - I
To eat the world's due
Within thine own bud
But thou contracted to
thine own bright eyes
buriest thy content
Feed'st thy light's flame with
self-substa
ntial fuel
by the grave - and thee
And tender churl
Making a famine where
abundance lies
mak'st waste in niggarding
Thyself thy foe
to thy sweet self too cruel