2

When fortie Winters ſhall beſeige thy brow,
And digge deep trenches in thy beauties field,
Thy youthes proud liuery so gaz’d on now,
Will be a totter’d weed of ſmal worth held:
Then being askt,where all thy beautie lies,
Where all the treaſure of thy luſty daies;
To ſay whithin thine owne deepe ſunken eyes,
Were an all-eating ſhame,and thriftleſſe praiſe.
How much more praiſe deſeru’d thy beauties vſe,
If thou couldſt anſwere this fair child of mine
Shall ſum my count,and make my old excuſe
Proouing his beautie by ſucceſſion thine.
   This were to be new made when thou art ould,
   And see thy blood warme when thou feel’ſt it could,

Zie ook het online-facsimile van de oorspronkelijke uitgave (site helaas niet altijd bereikbaar).