Sonet 84

Ah, thou (my Loue) wilt lose thy selfe at last, Who can to match thy selfe with none agree: Thou ow'st thy father Nephewes, and to me A recompence for all my passions past. Ah, why should'st thou thy beauties treasure wast, Which will begin for to decay I see? Earst Daphne did become a barren tree, Because she was not halfe so wise as chast: And all the fairest things do soonest fade, Which O, I feare thou with repentance trie; The roses blasted are, the lillies dye, And all do languish in the sommers shade: Yet will I grieue to see those flowers fall downe, Which for my temples should haue fram'd a crowne.