Resumo de Poess

Write your abstract

here.From fairest creatures we desire

increase,

That thereby beauty's rose might never
die,

But as the riper should by time decease,

His tender heir might bear his memory:

But thou contracted to thine own bright

eyes,

Feed'st thy light's flame with self-

substantial

fuel,

Making a famine where abundance lies,

Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too

cruel:

Thou that art now the world's fresh

ornament,

And only herald to the gaudy spring,

Within thine own bud buriest thy
content,

And tender churl mak'st waste in
niggarding:

Pity the world, or else this glutton be,

To eat the world's due, by the grave
and

thee.

When forty winters shall
besiege

thy

brow,

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's
field,

Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on
now,

Will be a tattered weed of small worth
held:

Then being asked, where all thy beauty
lies,

Where all the treasure of thy lusty
days;

To say within thine own deep sunken
eyes,

Were an all-eating shame, and
thriftless

praise.

How much more praise deserved thy
beauty's

use,

If thou couldst answer 'This fair child
of

mine

Shall sum my count, and make my old
excuse'

Proving his beauty by succession thine.

This were to be new made when thou art
old,

And see thy blood warm when thou
feel'st it

cold.

Look in thy glass and tell
the

face

thou

viewest,

Now is the time that face should form

another,

Whose fresh repair if now thou not
renewest,

Thou dost beguile the world, unbless
some

mother.

For where is she so fair whose uneared
womb

Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?

Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,

Of his self-love to stop posterity?

Thou art thy mother's glass and she in
thee

Calls back the lovely April of her
prime,

So thou through windows of thine age
shalt

see,

Despite of wrinkles this thy golden
time.

But if thou live remembered not to be,

Die single and thine image dies with
thee.

Unthrifty loveliness
why

dost

thou

spend,

Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?

Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth

lend,

And being frank she lends to those are
free:

Then beauteous niggard why dost thou
abuse,

The bounteous largess given thee to
give?

Profitless usurer why dost thou use

So great a sum of sums yet canst not
live?

For having traffic with thy self alone,

Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost

deceive,

Then how when nature calls thee to be
gone,

What acceptable audit canst thou leave?

Thy unused beauty must be tombed with
thee,

Which used lives th' executor to be.

Those hours that with
gentle

work

did

frame

The lovely gaze where every eye doth
dwell

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