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Sonnet 17

       ,             ,          ,          ,         ,
      Who will | believe | my verse | in time | to come,
          ,           ,            ,           ,         ,
      If^it | were filled | with your | most^high | deserts?
              ,       x     ,              ,           ,
      Though yet | heaven knows / it is | but as | a tomb
              ,            ,          ,           ,           ,
      Which hides | your life,| and shows | not half | your parts.
         ,           ,           ,      ,          ,
      If I | could write | the beau|ty of | your eyes,
                 ,    ,        ,       ,          ,       o
      And in / fresh num|bers num|ber all | your gra|ces,
           ,         ,           ,          ,      ,
      The age | to come | would say | This po|et lies;
            ,    2     ,        ,              ,       ,       o
      Such hea|venly touch|es nere | touched^earth|ly fa|ces.
            ,         ,        ,          ,           ,
      So should | my pa|pers (yel|lowed with | their age,)
            ,            ,     T   .   T    T             ,
      Be scorned,| like old | men of less truth | than tongue,
                   ,     ,           ,        ,        ,
      And your / true rights | be termed | a po|et's rage
            ,         ,               ,  ,     ,
      And stret|ched me|ter of an // antique song:
            ,            ,          ,        ,           ,
      But were | some* child | of yours | alive | that^time,
             ,            ,         ,        ,        ,
      You should | live^twice | in it,| and in | my rhyme.
 
 
Lines 6 and 8 are hexameter

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