Sonnet 19

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,And burn the long-liv'd phœnix in her blood; 4Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,To the wide world and all her fading sweets;But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: 8O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;Him in thy course untainted do allowFor beauty's pattern to succeeding men. 12Yet do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,My love shall in my verse ever live young.

5 fleets: hastest10 antique; cf. n.