Shakespeare Sonnet Generator

Sonnet #155

by William Shakespeare
I loss with store; When I by advised respects; Against that word From.
I Than praise upon deceased I Than is endeared with self-substantial.
Eve's sweetness tell. How like Eve's the trophies of.
I, proud titles boast, Whilst I, duteous, now is put this.
Muse And married to my Muse And chide, The guilty of care Makes.
Muse grown so gazed on the voice of time; For canker vice the ashes of.
I of hate? O, though I love fame faster than garments' cost, Of more.
I wilt be stol'n, I apple doth stay! All days should keep invention.
I by that which I the basest clouds do I bore the west, Which.
Dian's this the defendant doth nightly gulls him with your.
I, proud titles boast, Whilst I, got new hate me not counted fair, Or.
O cruel! say it in all that which I cry, As, to thy deep.
I my pity-wanting pain. If I filed. I think on truth Askance.
I do not so; I summer's breath most loving thoughts my.
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