Sonnet 13

Groundlyngs, your Will wouldst lie and tell thee that he doth savour the writinge of all these sonnets to the young manne, but as I am an honest man, I tell thee the truth, and pray thou dost holde mine words tight to thine own breast: this your Will doth do for the money for the nonce.

Need an insult? Will has you covered!

'Tis Monday, and doubtless some knave doth vex thee at thy toil. Share this mine image with him or tagge him on Facebooke @ Shakesblogging.