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Blog entries about: Mangled Shakespere |
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Pogonotomy and Omadóphily (In the style of Sonnet XIII)
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O, that you wear your hair! but, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to smugglers give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination: then you were
Yourself again after your beard's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet face is bare.
Who lets so fair a chin fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of an october's day
And barren rage of the channel's eternal cold?
O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know
You had a beard: let your team say go.
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