sonnet 6

Then let not Winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. That use is not forbidden usury, Which happies those that pay the willing loan; That's for thyself to breed another thee, Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee: Then what could Death do, if thou shouldst depart, Leaving thee living in posterity? Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair, To be Death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

#6 #sonnetperday