Sonnet 63

　　Against my love shall be as I am now，

　　With time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn；

　　When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow

　　With lines and wrinkles；when his youthful morn

　　Hath travelled on to age's steepy night，

　　And all those beauties whereof now he's king

　　Are vanishing，or vanished out of sight，

　　Stealing away the treasure of his spring：

　　For such a time do I now fortify

　　Against confounding age'