181Oh that you were yourself! But, love, you are

182No longer yours than you yourself here live.

183Against this coming end you should prepare,

184And your sweet semblance to some other give.

185So should that beauty which you hold in lease

186Find no determination; then you were

187Yourself again after yourself's decease,

188When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.

189Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,

190Which husbandry in honor might uphold

191Against the stormy gusts of winter's day

192And barren rage of death's eternal cold?

193 Oh, none but unthrifts, dear my love you know:

194 You had a father; let your son say so.

196Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck,

197And yet methinks I have astronomy;

198But not to tell of good or evil luck,

199Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;

200Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,

201'Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,

202Or say with princes if it shall go well

203By oft predict that I in heaven find.

204But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,

205And, constant stars, in them I read such art

206As truth and beauty shall together thrive

207If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert:

208 Or else of thee this I prognosticate,

209 Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

211When I consider everything that grows

212Holds in perfection but a little moment;

213That this huge stage presenteth naught but shows

214Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;

215When I perceive that men as plants increase,

216Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky,

217Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,

218And wear their brave state out of memory;

219Then the conceit of this inconstant stay

220Sets you, most rich in youth, before my sight,

221Where wasteful time debateth with decay

222To change your day of youth to sullied night;

223 And all in war with Time for love of you,

224 As he takes from you, I engraft you new.