Page 1955 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

9 IT

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 mateless 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 eyes, 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.