- O! that you were your self; 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 honour 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.