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| Against my love shall be as I am now, | 1 |
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| With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn; |
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| When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow |
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| With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn |
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| Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night; | 5 |
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| And all those beauties whereof now he's king |
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| Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, |
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| Stealing away the treasure of his spring; |
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| For such a time do I now fortify |
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| Against confounding age's cruel knife, | 10 |
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| That he shall never cut from memory |
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| My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life: |
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 His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, |
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| And they shall live, and he in them still green. |
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