William Shakespeare - Sonnet 13

Lyrics

O, that you were yourself! 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 Yourself 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