letra de sonnet 13 - the marlowe society
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o, that you were yourself! but, love, you are
no longer yours than 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 yourself’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?
o, none but unthrifts: dear my love, you know
you had a father; let your son say so
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