Sonnet 2: When forty winters shall besiege thy brow

1When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

2And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,

3Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,

4Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:

5Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,

6Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;

7To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,

8Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.

9How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,

10If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine

11Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'

12Proving his beauty by succession thine!

13 This were to be new made when thou art old,

14 And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.