In thee thy summer ere thou be distil'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed.
That use is not forbidden usury.
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thy selfe to breed an other thee,
Or ten times happier be it ten for one,
Ten times thy selfe were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee,
Then what could deathe doe if thou should'st depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not selfe-wilde for thou arte much too faire.
To be deaths conquest and make worms thine heire.
No comments:
Post a Comment