Sonnet 5

　　Those hours that with gentle work did flame

　　The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell

　　Will play the tyrants to the very same.

　　And that unfair which fairly doth excel；

　　For never—resting time leads summer on

　　To hideous winter，and confounds him there，

　　Sap checked with frost，and lusty leaves quite gone，

　　Beauty o'er-snowed，and bareness everywhere.

　　Then were not summer's distillation left

　　A liquid prisoner pent in w