11,112,006,825,558,016 Sonnets(after Queneau)Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Will play the tyrants to the very same Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, That's for thyself to breed another thee, Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where: Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Calls back the lovely April of her prime: Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
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