Sonnet 60

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

So do our minutes hasten to their end

Each changing place with that which goes before

In sequent toil all forwards do contend

Nativity, once in the main of light

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight

And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth

And delves the parallels in beauty's brow

Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth

And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow

And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand

Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand