| O! THAT you were yourself; but, love, you are | |
| No longer yours, than you your self here live: | |
| Against this coming end you should prepare, | |
| And your sweet semblance to some other give: | |
| So should that beauty which you hold in lease | 5 |
| Find no determination; then you were | |
| Yourself again, after yourself’s decease, | |
| When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. | |
| Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, | |
| Which husbandry in honour might uphold | 10 |
| Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day | |
| And barren rage of death’s eternal cold? | |
| O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know | |
| You had a father: let your son say so. |