Sonnet #22

My glass shl nt persuade me I am old,
So long as Uth & thou R of one date,
bt when in thee timez furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days shud expiate.
4 all th@ beauty th@ doth cover thee,
Is bt d Cmly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me,
How can I then b elder than thou art?
O thr4e luv b of thyself so wary,
As I nt 4 my self, bt 4 thee will,
Bearing thy heart which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe frm faring ill.
Presume nt on thy heart when mine is slain,
Thou gav'st me thine nt 2 give back again.
See Original Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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