Shakespeare's Sonnet 16

But wherefore do not you a mightier wayMake war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?And fortify yourself in your decayWith means more blessed than my barren rhyme?Now stand you on the top of happy hours,And many maiden gardens, yet unset,With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,Much liker than your painted counterfeit:So should the lines of life that life repair,Which this, Time’s pencil, or my pupil pen,Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

But why don't you fight this bloody tyrant, Time, in a more powerful way? Why not protect yourself against decline with something more fruitful than my childless verse?
You are now at the height of your happiest years, and many young women, like gardens not yet planted, would gladly and honorably bear your living flowers—children much more like you than a painted portrait.
The family line you create would renew your life. Neither a portrait drawn by Time's pencil nor my inexperienced pen can preserve you as you really are, in either inner worth or outward beauty, in people's eyes.
Giving yourself away keeps you alive, and you must live on in a likeness made by your own loving skill.