Sonnet 2: When forty winters shall besiege thy brow

When 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 tattered 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 deserved thy beauty's use,If thou

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