Sonnet 126

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy pow’r
Dost hold time’s fickly glass, his sickle hour,
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st
Thy lovers withering, as they sweet self grow’st –
If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose: that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minute kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure;
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure.
Her audit, though delayed, answered muxt be,
And her quietus is to render thee.

Praise myself:

1. Went to the office
2. lived
3. Replants
4. ate well
5. Took notes while listened insta live

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/aug/30/reporting-on-belarus-courage-violence-and-creepers-with-cameras

It had been clear for a while that discontent with Alexander Lukashenko’s 26-year rule in Belarus was on the rise, but it came as a surprise to most observers – and to the protesters themselves – at just how quickly it has turned into a movement threatening to topple his regime.

Topple fall ぐらつく

Those people still brave enough to go out protesting were chased into courtyards, pummelled and then taken to a notorious prison on Okrestina Street on the city’s outskirts.

Pummel こぶしでうつ

ulcer 潰瘍