Sonnet 13
b'
O that you were yourself! But, love, you are
No 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 lease
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again after yourself\\u2019s decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honor might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter\\u2019s day
And barren rage of death\\u2019s eternal cold?
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 O, none but unthrifts: dear my love, you know
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 You had a father, let your son say so.