From fairest creatures we desire increase,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest
And being frank she lends to those are free.
For never-resting Time leads summer on
Which happies those that pay the willing loan –
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend,
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Look whom she best endowed she gave the more;
And die as fast as they see others grow;
     O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know
     Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.