Shakespeare Sonnet Generator

Sonnet #155

by William Shakespeare
I do, Doing thee vantage, double-vantage tears, Distill'd.
I boast: Wretched in this alone, tears, Distill'd from thee: The.
I new pay as if in 'Will,' add the travail of our old Time: despite.
I condemned for thy hand, And cheek the tomb Of his shade, When.
I myself am mortgaged to what you did exceed The barren.
Love's brand new-fired, The boy for thyself alone, Thou.
I in this, Authorizing thy trespass that which wit so dignifies.
Muse And therefore mayst without attaint winters shall o'er-read, And.
O, how can Love's eye in myself alone. And, to whom Nature store, To.
O cruel! say 'This fair beseechers kill; Think all worths surmount. But.
This fair child of mine Shall chest lie with all thy widow.
Twixt a miser and his in me as the world's false in thy large.
I Than niggard truth doth cover every part; And for my.
Muse brings forth, That having such bankrupt is, Beggar'd of you. What.
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