| | Sonnet 6 |
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Then let not winter's ragged hand deface |
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In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled. |
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Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place |
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With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-killed. |
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That use is not forbidden usury |
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Which happies those that pay the willing loan; |
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That's for thyself to breed another thee, |
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Or ten times happier, be it ten for one. |
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Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, |
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If ten of thine ten times refigured thee. |
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Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart, |
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Leaving thee living in posterity? |
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Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair |
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To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir. |
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