- OOK in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
- Now is the time that face should form another,
- Whose fresh repair if now thou renewest,
- Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
- For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
- Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
- Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
- Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
- Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
- Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
- So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
- Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
- But if thou live rememb’red not to be,
- Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
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