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| Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, | 1 |
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| When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, |
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| Before these bastard signs of fair were born, |
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| Or durst inhabit on a living brow; |
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| Before the golden tresses of the dead, | 5 |
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| The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, |
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| To live a second life on second head; |
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| Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: |
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| In him those holy antique hours are seen, |
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| Without all ornament, itself and true, | 10 |
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| Making no summer of another's green, |
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| Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; |
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 And him as for a map doth Nature store, |
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| To show false Art what beauty was of yore. |
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