Shakespeare Sonnet Generator

Sonnet #155

by William Shakespeare
Proud of life thou lovest, and I dare I most sweet and.
I should grow mad, And in will, thy large and ever so. Kind.
Thou single wilt prove none.' Is add a woman colour'd ill. To.
Fortune's bastard shame: For since he stole that guides my seat.
Time's fickle glass, his sickle, burn'd, Since first your truth. Not.
I may change my mind! Shall how shall o'er-read, And tongues that man's.
I pine and surfeit day tires are you be gone, Save that, to show me with.
I always write of you, And roses fearfully on a mansion have of.
Helen's cheek all the show appear: That love that love well.
I myself am mortgaged to add a woman wert thou the painter must not kill The.
I hate' To me that languish'd blind fool, though it must be; For.
Greeing, And to his part, Or some interest, Which for a lie! Cupid.
I know it not. So shall a holy bower, But is such interchange of love.
Will' in overplus; More than enough winters cold Have from love's delight. I.
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