Sonnet 16: “But wherefore do not you a mightier way…”

But wherefore do not you a mightier way

 Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time?

 And fortify your self in your decay

 With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?

 Now stand you on the top of happy hours,

 And many maiden gardens yet unset,

 With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,

 Much liker than your painted counterfeit:

 So should the lines of life that life repair

 Which this (Time's pencil) or my pupil pen

 Neither in inward worth nor outward fair

 Can make you live your self in eyes of men.

   To give away your self, keeps your self still,

   And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.