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IX.
Is it
for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest
thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt
hap to die.
The world will wail thee, like a makeless
wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When
every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes
her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift
in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for
still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in
the world an end,
And kept unused, the user so
destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murderous shame commits.
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