Sonnet 22

	My glass shall not persuade me I am old
	So long as youth and thou are of one date;
	But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
	Then look I death my days should expiate.
	For all that beauty that doth cover thee
	Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
	Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me.
	How can I then be elder than thou art?
	O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
	As I, not for myself, but for thee will,
	Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
	As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
	Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
	Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.

                                 
                                                                                                            -William Shakespeare