f000001|2
f000002|When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
f000003|And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
f000004|Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
f000005|Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
f000006|Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
f000007|Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
f000008|To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
f000009|Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
f000010|How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
f000011|If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
f000012|Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
f000013|Proving his beauty by succession thine!
f000014|This were to be new made when thou art old,
f000015|And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
