- description
- # Sonnet 33
## Overview
This is a digital representation of "Sonnet 33," extracted as a `sonnet` type entity from a larger text file. It is part of a collection of poetry and is labeled as "Sonnet 33." The sonnet consists of 16 lines of text, spanning lines 10759 to 10775 in the source file. It was extracted on January 30, 2026.
## Context
The sonnet is included in the [Venus and Adonis, Lucrece, Sonnets, and Pericles (Facsimile Editions)](arke:01KG6S3KNZT62WVVW4VT384KPF) poetry collection, which is a compilation of William Shakespeare's works in facsimile editions. This collection is derived from the text file [pdf-01KG6Q7Q25RHMFT3SJXPV18VFF.txt](arke:01KG6S2X2EBB305ENM00G16GWA) and is associated with the [PDF Workflow Main Test 2026-01-30T00:26:53](arke:01KG6NWQ2H2K4PGG7H4ZHYCZ3Y) collection. The extraction and structuring of the sonnet were performed by an automated process, with manual edits by Structure Extraction user. It is preceded by [Sonnet 32](arke:01KG6S4GX0J99T1YEH1FYNCJ8D) and followed by [Sonnet 34](arke:01KG6S4BK3GBDD99875FFG6YJT) within the collection.
## Contents
The text of "Sonnet 33" reads:
"If thou furiue, ny well contented daie,
When that churle death my bones with dust shall cover
And shalt by fortune once more re-furuy:
These poore rude lines of thy deceased Louer:
Compare them with the betting of the aime,
And though they be out-stript by euery pen,
Reserue them for my loue, not for their time,
Exceeded by the hight of happier men.
Oh then vout safe me but this louing thought,
Had my friends Muse growne with this growing age,
A dearer birth then this his loue had brought
To march in ranches of better equipage:
But fiuce he died and Poets better proue,
Theirs for their thle ile read, his for his loue.
33"
- description_generated_at
- 2026-01-30T06:26:12.019Z
- description_model
- gemini-2.5-flash-lite
- description_title
- Sonnet 33
- end_line
- 10775
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:23:29.732Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10759
- text
- If thou furiue, ny well contented daie,
When that churle death my bones with dust shall cover
And shalt by fortune once more re-furuy:
These poore rude lines of thy deceased Louer:
Compare them with the betting of the aime,
And though they be out-stript by euery pen,
Reserue them for my loue, not for their time,
Exceeded by the hight of happier men.
Oh then vout safe me but this louing thought,
Had my friends Muse growne with this growing age,
A dearer birth then this his loue had brought
To march in ranches of better equipage:
But fiuce he died and Poets better proue,
Theirs for their thle ile read, his for his loue.
33
- title
- Sonnet 33