Sonnet XXII  by William Shakespeare  My glass shall not persuade
me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when
in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days
should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee Is but
the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live,
as thine in me: How can I then be elder than thou art? O,
therefore, love, be of thyself so wary As I, not for myself, but
for thee will; Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary As
tender nurse her babe from faring ill. Presume not on thy heart
when mine is slain; Thou gavest me thine, not to give back
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