Sonnet #126

O thou my luvly boy who in thy power,
Dost hold Timez fickle glass his fickle hour:
Who hast by waning grown, & thrin show'st,
Thy luvrs withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.
If Nature (sovereign mistress over wrack)
As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee 2 this purpose, th@ her skill
May time disgrace, & wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her O thou minion of her pleasure,
She may detain, bt nt still keep her treasure!
Her audit (though delayed) answered must be,
& her quietus is 2 render thee.


See Original Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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