XI

　　As fast as thou shalt wane¹， so fast thou grow'st， In one of thine， from that which thou departest； And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st， Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest， Herein lives wisdom， beauty， and increase； Without this folly²， age， and cold decay： If all were minded so， the times should cease And threescore year would make the world away. Let those whom nature hath not made for store， Harsh， featureless， and rude， barrenly perish： Look， whom she best endow'd， she gave thee more； Which bounteous³ gift thou shouldst in bounty⁴ cherish： She carv'd thee for her seal， and meant thereby⁵， Thou shouldst print more， not let that copy die.