Sonnet 13 O that you were yourself, but love you are
O, that you were yourself! but, love, you areNo longer yours than you yourself here live:Against this coming end you should prepare,And your sweet semblance to some other give.So should that beauty which you hold in leaseFind no determination: then you wereYourself again after yourself's decease,When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,Which husbandry in honour might upholdAgainst the stormy gusts of winter's dayAnd barren rage of death's eternal cold?O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you knowYou had a father: let your son say so.