Then let not winter’s ragged hand defac

In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled.

Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place

With beauty’s treasure ere it be self-killed.

That use is not forbidden usur

Which happies those that pay the willing loan;

That’s for thyself to breed another thee

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one.

Ten times thyself were happier than thou art

If ten of thine ten times refigured thee

Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart

Leaving thee living in posterity?

Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair

To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir. C44wXf8GOtZ6wEgOoKvkA4dpSpW6C2mATj1EyWXJWa9s2y76YQf0oXuLvy0amQvX