Sonnet 63. Against my love shall be as I am now

Against my love shall be as I am now

With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn

When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow

With lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn

Hath travelled on to age's steepy night

And all those beauties whereof now he's king

Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight

Stealing away the treasure of his spring: