Сонеты

Сонет 13

О that you were your self! but, love, you are

No longer yours than you yourself here live;

Against this coming end you should prepare,

And^your sweet semblance to some other give:

So should that beauty which you hold in lease

Find no determination; then you were

Your self again after yourself s decease,

When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.

Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,

Which husbandry in honour might uphold

Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day

And barren rage of death’s eternal cold?

O, none but unthrifts: dear my love, you know

You had a father, let your son say so.