1 My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
2 So long as youth and thou are of one date;
3 But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
4 Then look I death my days should expiate.
5 For all that beauty that doth cover thee
6 Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
7 Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
8 How can I then be elder than thou art?
9 O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
10 As I, not for myself, but for thee will,
11 Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
12 As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
13 Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
14 Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.