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| Those lines that I before have writ do lie, | 1 |
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| Even those that said I could not love you dearer: |
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| Yet then my judgment knew no reason why |
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| My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. |
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| But reckoning Time, whose million'd accidents | 5 |
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| Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, |
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| Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, |
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| Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; |
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| Alas! why fearing of Time's tyranny, |
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| Might I not then say, 'Now I love you best,' | 10 |
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| When I was certain o'er incertainty, |
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| Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? |
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 Love is a babe, then might I not say so, |
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| To give full growth to that which still doth grow? |
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