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Sonnet 13

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Original Text

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's 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's day
	And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
	                O, none but unthrifts, dear my love you know,
	                You had a father; let your son say so.

Modern Text


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