Sonnet 3

　　Look in thy glass，and tell the face thou viewest

　　Now is the time that face should form another，

　　Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest，

　　Thou dost beguile the world，unbless some mother.

　　For where is she so fair whose uneared womb

　　Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry？

　　Or who is he so fond will be the tomb

　　Of his self-love，to stop posterity？

　　Thou art thy mother's glass，and she in thee

　　Calls back the lovely April of her