"What may this mean,

"What may this mean,

That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon?
"http://www.google.com/#hl=en&source=hp&q=charlax+sonnets&btnG=Google+Search&aq=f&aqi=&aql=&oq=charlax
+sonnets&fp=f15a301262521d7 there is a line break in this can you find it ewe. Doth resist the age of charlax makes the prose.
Entereth the Sonneteth. A Dropper Namme John Hemminge and Henry Condell were fellowes of this Barded One. They gave and gave and gave.
Sonnet 17 Who will believe my verse in time to come
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
we were writting in clairvouyence mode
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Twas Iron Man we were writting of.
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
that suit of armour that he wore so red and gold
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
we never see behind the mask of Irony
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
the military aspects
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
there is no Iron Man there is no god
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
withe marks of wounds lest Jesus surface
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
the poet falters in the face of this insurgence
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
this man of Iron is purley comical
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
iff this be true let poets rage on pages of periodicals
And stretched metre of an antique song:
I am Iron Mon(sic)
But were some child of yours alive that time,
this young CharlaX wept on every comix page
You should live twice; in it and in my rhymed verses
you can guess the meaning of the ages comes
this Iron Man song
and dances.