SONNET 63

Against mylove shall be, as I amnow, With Time's injurious hand crush'd
and o'er-worn; When hourshave drain'dhisblood and fill'dhisbrow With
lines and wrinkles;whenhisyouthful morn Hathtravell'd on to age's
steepy night, And all those beautieswhereofnow he'sking Arevanishing
orvanish'd out ofsight, Stealingaway thetreasure ofhisspring; For
such atime do Inow fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife, That
he shall never cutfrom memory Mysweetlove's beauty, though mylover's
life: His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, And they shalllive,
and he in them stillgreen.