Shakespeare's Sonnet #2
When fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow,
And digge deep trenches in thy beauties field,
Thy youthes proud liuery so gaz'd on now,
Wil be a totter'd weed of smal worth held:
Then being askt,where all thy beautie lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty daies;
To say within thine owne deepe sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame,and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deseru'd thy beauties use,
If thou couldst answere this faire child of mine
Shall sum my count,and make my old excuse
Proouing his beautie by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art ould,
And see thy blood warme when thou feel'st it cold.
by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Good night Miss Feather and Fellow Lairites . . . see you tomorrow.