Is
it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That
thou consum'st thy self in single life?
Ah!
if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The
world will wail thee like a makeless wife;
The
world will be thy widow and still weep
That
thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When
every private widow well may keep
By
children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Look!
what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts
but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But
beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And
kept unused the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murd'rous shame
commits.
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