Act I, Scene 19

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• Shakespeare. Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
  And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
  Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, 255
  And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
  Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
  And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
  To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
  But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: 260
  O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
  Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
  Him in thy course untainted do allow
  For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
  Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, 265
  My love shall in my verse ever live young.