letra de sonnet 126 - the marlowe society
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o thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
dost hold time’s fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st
thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow’st;
if nature, sovereign mistress over wrack
as thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back
she keeps thee to this purpose, that her sk!ll
may time disgrace and wretched minutes k!ll
yet fear her, o thou minion of her pleasure!
she may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:
her audit, though delay’d, answer’d must be
and her quietus is to rendеr thee
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