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Herbert

SONNET NO. 13

 

      0, that you  were yourself, but love you  are
      No longer yours, then 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 your self's decease,
      When your sweet issue your  sweet form should bear,
      Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
      Which husbandry  in honour  might uphold
      Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
      And barren  rage of death's eternal cold,
      0, none but unthrifts, dear my love, you  know
      You  had a father, let your  son say so.

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