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Sonnet 21

           ,      ,          ,        ,           ,
      So is | it not | with me | as with | that Muse,
         ,             ,        ,      ,         ,
      Stirred by | a paint|ed beaut|y to | his verse,
            x          ,         ,     ,          ,
      Who heaven | itself | for orn|ament | doth use
           ,       ,          ,            ,         ,
      And eve|ry fair | with his | fair* doth | rehearse,
       ,           ,      ,         ,          ,
      Making | a coup|lement | of proud | compare
            ,          ,           ,      .    T     T    T
      With sun | and moon,| with earth | and sea's rich gems:
            ,         ,             ,       .   T     T     T
      With Ap|ril's^first-|born* flowers,| and all things rare,
            ,         ,                ,    ,        ,
      That heav|en's air | in this / huge rond|ure hems.
         ,         ,         ,         ,       ,
      O let | me true | in love | but tru|ly write,
            ,        ,          ,         ,        ,
      And then | believe | me, my | love^is | as fair
         ,     ,          ,             ,          ,
      As an|y moth|er's child,| though not | so bright
       .   T     T    T        ,          ,        ,
      As those gold cand|les fixed | in heav|en's air:
             ,          ,           ,         ,         ,
      Let* them | say more | that like | of hear|say* well;
          ,           ,           ,        ,         ,
      I will | not praise | that pur|pose not | to sell.

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