Sonnet XI
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase
Without this folly, age, and cold decay
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away
Let those whom nature hath not made for store
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish
Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die

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