Sonnet VIII: There's Nothing Grieves Me
There's nothing grieves me, but that Age should haste,That in my days I may not see thee old,That where those two clear sparkling eyes are plac'dOnly two loop-holes then I might behold;That lovely, arched, ivory, polish'd browDefac'd with wrinkles that I might but see;Thy dainty hair, so curl'd and crisped now,Like grizzled moss upon some aged tree;Thy cheek, now flush with roses, sunk and lean;Thy lips with age as any wafer thin;Thy pearly teeth out of thy head so cleanThat, when thou feed'st, thy nose shall touch thy chin.These lines that now thou scorn'st, which should delight thee,Then would I make thee read but to despite thee.
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