From fairest creature we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose never might die,
But as the ripper should by time decrease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to the sweet self too cruel,
Thou that art now world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender, churl, makest waste in niggarding,
Pity the world or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
BY
(WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE)
