Against my love shall be I am now,
With Time`s injurious hand crushed and o`erworn;When hours have drained his blood and filled his browWith lines and wrinkles, when his youthful mornHath traveled on to Age`s steepy night,And all those beauties whereof now he`s kingAre vanishing, or vanished out of sight,Stealing away the treasure of his spring;For such a time do I now fortifyAgainst confounding Age`s cruel knife,That he shall never cut from memoryMy sweet love`s beauty, though my lover`s life.His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,And they shall live, and he in them still green.