Shakespeare~

Sonnet 16

(Continuing form Sonnet 15)

But Wherefore do not you a mightier way

Make war upon this bloody tyrant,

time,

And fortify yourself in your decay

With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?

Now stand you on the top of happy hours,

And many maiden gardens, yet unset,

With virtuous wish would bear

your living flowers,

Much liker than your painted

counterfeit.

So should the lines of life that life repair

Which this time's pencil or my pupil pen

Neither in inward worth nor outward fair

Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.

To give away yourself keeps yourself still,

And you must live, drawn

by your own sweet skill.