- description
- # ## 11
## Overview
This is a section of text extracted from a larger document, specifically lines 10345-10361 of the file [pdf-01KG6Q7Q25RHMFT3SJXPV18VFF.txt](arke:01KG6S2X2EBB305ENM00G16GWA). It is labeled "## 11" and titled "## 11". The section contains a sonnet. This section is part of the [PDF Workflow Main Test 2026-01-30T00:26:53](arke:01KG6NWQ2H2K4PGG7H4ZHYCZ3Y) collection.
## Context
The section is part of the chapter [SONNETS.](arke:01KG6S4GWYPZNAPTTX8SV5VW42) within the larger document. It is preceded by section [## 10](arke:01KG6S5NSHM6S3AF5D52KZ9HPD) and followed by section [## 12](arke:01KG6S5NSF0D1313NJ86M823ZE). The text file [pdf-01KG6Q7Q25RHMFT3SJXPV18VFF.txt](arke:01KG6S2X2EBB305ENM00G16GWA) was processed by the "structure-extraction-lambda" at 2026-01-30T06:25:05.941Z.
## Contents
This section contains Shakespeare's Sonnet 11. The sonnet discusses themes of procreation, beauty, wisdom, and the ravages of time. It urges the subject to reproduce, arguing that beauty and wisdom are preserved through offspring, while those who do not reproduce are destined for decay and oblivion. The sonnet emphasizes the importance of cherishing nature's gifts and fulfilling the purpose for which one was created.
- description_generated_at
- 2026-01-30T06:26:14.860Z
- description_model
- gemini-2.5-flash-lite
- description_title
- ## 11
- end_line
- 10361
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:24:08.804Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10345
- text
- ## 11
As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow’st,
In one of thine, from that which thou departest,
And that fresh bloud which yongly thou bestow’st,
Thou maist call thine, when thou from youth conuertest,
Herein liues wifdome, beauty, and increase,
Without this follie, age, and could decay,
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threefroore yeare would make the world away:
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perrish,
Looke whom she best indow’d, she gaue the more;
Which bountious guilt thou shouldst in bounty cherrish,
She caru’d thee for her feale, and ment therby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that coppy die.
- title
- ## 11