Sonnet 16. But wherefore do not you a mightier way

But wherefore do not you a mightier way

Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?

And fortify yourself in your decay

With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?

Now stand you on the top of happy hours

And many maiden gardens yet unset

With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers

Much liker than your painted counterfeit: