Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled:

Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place,With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed:

That use is not forbidden usury,Which happies those that pay the willing loan;That's for thy self to breed another thee,Or ten times happier be it ten for one,Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:

Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,Leaving thee living in posterity?

Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair,To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.