Form fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory;
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe , to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornment
And only herald to the gaudy spring
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And,tender churl , mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity thr world , or else this giutton be;
To eat the world's due , by the grave and thee.
