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| Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest | 1 |
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| Now is the time that face should form another; |
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| Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, |
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| Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. |
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| For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb | 5 |
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| Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? |
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| Or who is he so fond will be the tomb, |
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| Of his self-love to stop posterity? |
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| Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee |
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| Calls back the lovely April of her prime; | 10 |
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| So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, |
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| Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. |
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 But if thou live, remember'd not to be, |
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| Die single and thine image dies with thee. |
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