All losses are restored and sorrows end.
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,

My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;
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Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;

Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
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Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold

Juuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuust great.
<hits a hidden report button>

A poem and some spam, it must be our lucky day.

At least he's original, so he gets to stay until after I have taken a shower.

You should be wrinkled by now

LOL

this is just great...