Act I, Scene 63

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• Shakespeare. Against my love shall be, as I am now,
  With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-worn; 870
  When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow
  With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
  Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night,
  And all those beauties whereof now he's king
  Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, 875
  Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
  For such a time do I now fortify
  Against confounding age's cruel knife,
  That he shall never cut from memory
  My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life: 880
  His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
  And they shall live, and he in them still green.