please write me a shakespearean sonnet about shakespeare?

You probably picked this up already, but...

Responder Juefawn doesn't quite understand what a sonnet is, and 45ten either did not understand your question or is a tad on the dishonest side. This is Shakespeare's own Sonnet 16.

As to your question, you were given this assignment so *you* could flex your creative muscles and also maybe (GASP) learn something. Give it a try.

Shakespearean -

What lovely words thine mind did write,

Shakespeare, the greatest poet known!

Poems of youth, beauty, and life,

Rhymes, of his, his alone.

Admiration of his work,

Has made me a comrade of pen.

With this sonnet I assert

That I am a Shakespearean.

This isn't exactly 14lines, and doesn't have the same meter, like 11/12, but ah, I haven't tried to write a perfect one in long time.

BUT wherefore do not you a mightier way

Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?

And fortify yourself in your decay

With means more blessèd than my barren rime?

Now stand you on the top of happy hours,

And many maiden gardens, yet unset,

With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,

Much liker than your painted counterfeit:

So should the lines of life that life repair

Which this time's pencil or my pupil pen,

Neither in inward worth nor outward fair

Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.

To give away yourself keeps yourself still,

And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill

hope this is ok :)

-mike

Now enable me roll below the hooves of chance, though they could wreck my individuals, coronary heart or mind. Worms stay even as severed -- someplace interior the expanse Of this lengthy body pricey existence will stay: truly than lunge upright among the herd, A face thrust up between the brutish backs, Staring and yellow, determined, absurd -- The very last short stand of *homo contumax*. existence, the proud slattern, blandly will abide Even in a carriers or lacerated host; yet ridicule breaks in upon her delight, With which she warms her accommodations like a frost. Then she, who any trojan horse or pulp can cherish, Amid that lack of life of delight herself will perish. with suggestion from Norman Cameron (1905-1953) "Contumax" - insubordinate, obdurate