Sonnet XXII, by
William Shakespeare
My glass shall not persuade me
I am old
So long as
youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the
seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me;
How can I then be
elder than thou art?
O therefore, love, be of thyself wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so
chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain:
Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.
<-- index -->