Sonnet XI
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st
In one of thine, from that which
thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly
thou bestow’st,
Thou mayst call thine when thou
from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and
increase;
Without this folly, age, and cold
decay:
If all were minded so, the times
should cease
And threescore year would make the
world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made
for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude,
barrenly perish:
Look whom she best endowed, she
gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst
in bounty cherish:
She
carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou
shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
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