Page 1952 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

6 IT

Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface

In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty’s treasure, ere it be self-killed.
That use is not forbidden usury

Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That’s for thyself to breed another thee,
Or, ten times happier, be it ten for one.
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art

If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair

To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.