Madeline reads shakespeare's 124th sonnet

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#124 If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for fortune's b*st*rd be unfathered, As subject to time's love, or to time's hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd. No it was builded far from accident, It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto th'inviting time our fashion calls: It fears not policy that heretic, Which works on leases of short number'd hours, but all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. To this I witness call the fools of time, Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime. I am in the process of reading all Shakespeare's sonnets. My interpretations are drawn from the 1609 quarto as emended by C.D. Atkins.

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