As fast as thou  shalt wane  so fast thou  growest,
In one of thine from that which thou  departest,
And that fresh blood which youngly  thou bestow'st,
Thou  mayst call thine when thou  from youth convertest
Here in lives wisdom, beauty and increase,
Without   this, folly, age and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And three score year would make the world away:
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless and rude, barrenly  perish,
Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more:
Which bounteous  gift thou  should'st in bounty  cherish,
She carved thee for her seal and meant thereby
Thou  should'st print  more, not let that copy die.



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