The Sonnets

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lionʼs paws,

And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;

Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tigerʼs jaws,

And burn the long-livʼd phoenix, in her blood;

Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,

And do whateʼer thou wilt, swift-footed Time,

To the wide world and all her fading sweets;

But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:

O! carve not with thy hours my loveʼs fair brow,

Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;

Him in thy course untainted do allow

For beautyʼs pattern to succeeding men.

Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,

My love shall in my verse ever live young.