William Shakespeare, Sonnet ii
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now,
4
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
8
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd
If thou couldst answer -- 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse --'
12
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new-made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
Notes
line 4: Weed: garment [ Back to text ]
Most notes to Shakespeare's sonnets are from Charles Knight's edition, but those in square brackets are mine.