Shakespeare's Sonnet 13

O! that you were your self; but, love you areNo longer yours, than you yourself here live:Against this coming end you should prepare,And your sweet semblance to some other give:So should that beauty which you hold in leaseFind no determination; then you wereYourself again, after yourself’s decease,When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,Which husbandry in honour might uphold,Against the stormy gusts of winter’s dayAnd barren rage of death’s eternal cold?O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know,You had a father: let your son say so.

Oh, if only you could remain yourself forever! But, my love, you belong to yourself only as long as you live here. You should prepare for this coming end and give your lovely likeness to someone else. Then the beauty you hold on lease would never reach its end. You would be yourself again after your death, when your lovely child carried your lovely appearance. Who would let such a beautiful house fall into decay when responsible care could honorably preserve it against the stormy gusts of a winter’s day and the barren fury of death’s eternal cold? Oh, no one but the wasteful. My dear love, you know you had a father. Let your son say the same.