Sonnet XI, by
William Shakespeare
As fast as thou shalt
wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine from that which thou departest,
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest
Herein lives
wisdom,
beauty, and
increase;
Without this,
folly,
age, and cold
decay.
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish.
Look whom she best endowed she gave the more,
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in
bounty cherish.
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
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