Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day

Thy edge should blunter be than appetite

For, thou betraying me, I do betray

Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight

Love’s eye is not so true as all men’s: no

Against this coming end you should prepare

That you yourself, being extant, well might show

When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear

When I have seen such interchange of state

Incapable of more, replete with you

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate

And you in Grecian tires are painted new

So thou through windows of thine age shall see

And, being frank, she lends to those are free