Sonnet IX
Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye,
That thou consum’st thyself in
single life?
Ah! If thou issueless shalt hap to
die,
The world will wail thee like a
makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and
still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left
behind,
When every private widow well may
keep
By children’s eye, her husband’s
shape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world
doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the
world enjoys it;
But beauty’s waste hath in the
world an end,
And kept unused the user so
destroys it.
No
love toward others in that bosom sits
That
on himself such murd’rous shame commits.
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