William Shakespeare(1564–1616)
Sonnet 126
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy pow'r
Dost hold time's fickle glass his sickle hour,4
Who hast by waning grown, 5 and therein 0 show'stin contrast
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st—
If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,destruction, ruin
As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minute kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion6 of her pleasure;
She may detain but not still 0 keep her treasure.always, forever
Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,final accounting
And her quietus 0 is to render 0 thee.settlement I surrender