IX
Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye,That thou consum’st thyself in single life?Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,The world will wail thee like a makeless wife;The world will be thy widow and still weepThat thou no form of thee hast left behind,When every private widow well may keepBy children’s eyes, her husband’s shape in mind:Look! what an unthrift in the world doth spendShifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;But beauty’s waste hath in the world an end,And kept unused the user so destroys it.No love toward others in that bosom sitsThat on himself such murd’rous shame commits.