Act I, Scene 3

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• Shakespeare. Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
  Now is the time that face should form another; 30
  Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
  Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
  For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
  Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
  Or who is he so fond will be the tomb 35
  Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
  Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
  Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
  So thou through windows of thine age shall see
  Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. 40
  But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
  Die single, and thine image dies with thee.