Is it for
fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou
consum'st thy self 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 murd'rous shame commits.
It is a great sonnet written by William Shakespeare
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