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Sonnet 16

            ,         ,        ,        ,    2   ,
      But where|fore do | not you | a might|ier way
            ,       ,           ,     ,        ,
      Make^war | upon | this blood|y ty|rant Time?
           ,     ,         ,         ,       ,
      And for|tify | yourself | in your | decay
             ,       ,    ,                 ,        ,
      With means | more bless/ed than | my bar|ren rhyme?
            ,          ,        ,        ,       ,
      Now stand | you on | the top | of hap|py hours,
           ,      ,      ,         ,       ,
      And ma|ny maid|en gar|dens, yet | unset,
            ,    2     ,            ,         ,         x
      With vir|tuous wish | would bear | you liv|ing flowers,
            ,       ,           ,        ,       ,
      Much lik|er than | your pain|ted coun|terfeit:
             ,           ,      .   T    T    T        ,
      So* should | the lines | of life that life | repair,
        T     T    T       ,         2    ,      ,
      Which this Time's | pencil,| or my pup|il pen,
       ,            ,        ,          ,         ,
      Neither | in in|ward worth | nor out|ward fair,
           ,           ,         ,          ,        ,
      Can make | you live | yourself | in eyes | of men.
           ,      ,         ,                   ,    ,
      To give | away | yourself, |*keeps^your/self still,
           ,           ,      ,     2        T    T     T
      And you | must live,| drawn by your | own sweet skill.

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