Random Shakespearean Sonnet

Here's mine

Nor double penance, to correct correction.
O! that our night of woe might have remembered
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
When I was certain o'er uncertainty,

Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

The most sweet favour or deformedst creature,
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,
On whom frownst thou that I do fawn upon,
No, it was builded far from accident;

Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

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