Then let not winter’s raggeg hand deface,
In thee thy summer ere thou be distill’d:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place,
With beauty’s treasure ere it be self kil’d:
That use is not forbidden usury,
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 refigur’d thee,
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will’d for thou art much too fair,
To be death’s conquest and make worms thin heir.