When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
Sonnet 2When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now, Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held: Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,' Proving his beauty by succession thine! This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. |
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When you're forty years old, and your forehead is as wrinkled as a ploughed field, your marvellous beauty everyone's so taken by at the moment will be as useless and disregarded as a weed.
When they ask you then, 'What happened to all that glamour', it would be a crying shame to have to answer: 'It's been buried behind my old and sunken eyes'. No-one will thank you for that.
You'd be much more approved of in the use of your beauty if you could instead tell them “This child of mine will now provide the loveliness that I used to used to.” In his current beauty, he'll prove that you once had it, too.
That's how you can be young again in your old age, and see the vigour of your youth spring back when you yourself feel worn out.