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Sonnet LX
 
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
1
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
2
Each changing place with that which goes before,
3
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
4
Nativity, once in the main of light,
5
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
6
Crooked elipses 'gainst his glory fight,
7
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
8
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
9
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
10
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
11
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
12
   
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
13
   
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
14