| LOOK in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest | |
| Now is the time that face should form another; | |
| Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, | |
| Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother, | |
| For where is she so fair whose unear’d womb | 5 |
| Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? | |
| Or who is he so fond will be the tomb | |
| Of his self-love, to stop posterity? | |
| Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee | |
| Calls back the lovely April of her prime; | 10 |
| So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, | |
| Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. | |
| But if thou live, remember’d not to be, | |
| Die single, and thine image dies with thee. |