Sonnet 126: O Thou, My Lovely Boy, Who in Thy Power
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle hour, Who hast by waning grown and therein showst Thy lover's withering, as thy sweet self growst: If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back, She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill May Time disgrace and wretched minute kill. Yet fear her, o thou minion of her pleasure, She may detain but not still keep her treasure: Her audit, though delayed, answered must be, And her quietus is to render thee. ( ) ( ) |
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[NOTES TO FOLLOW]
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