Cf. Sonnet 6: Then let not winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some placeWith beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. That use is not forbidden usury, Which happies those that pay the willing loan;That's for thyself to breed another thee, Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart,Leaving thee living in posterity? Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
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