, THAT you were yourself, but, love, you are
- No longer yours than you yourself 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
- 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 honor might uphold
- 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.
SONNET #13
by: William Shakespeare