Page 1968 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

22 IT

My glass shall not persuade me I am old,

So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time’s furrows I behold
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee

Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be older than thou art?
O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary

As I, not for myself, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain:

Thou gav’st me thine not to give back again.