Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye

That thou consum’st thyself in single life

Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die,

The world will wail thee like a makeless wif;

The world will be thy widow and still wee

That thou no form of thee hast left behin

When every private widow well may keep,

By children’s eyes, her husband’s shape in mind

Look what an unthrift in the world doth spen

Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it

But beauty’s waste hath in the world an end,

And, kept unused, the user so destroys it

No love toward others in that bosom sits

That on himself such murd’rous shame commits sc9FeMuuzaK6T5HjcsFFpLkMUPZBKjcQhivRDxFMPGwNfYMfdQkK7tZmzuKbfLBA