The Sonnets by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 108

read by Ruth Negga

What’s in the brain that ink may character

Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?

What’s new to speak, what new to register,

That may express my love, or thy dear merit?

5Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,

I must each day say o’er the very same,

Counting no old thing old; thou mine, I thine,

Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name:

So that eternal love, in love’s fresh case,

10Weighs not the dust and injury of age,

Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place

But makes antiquity for aye his page,

Finding the first conceit of love there bred,

Where time and outward form would show it dead.

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