Sonnet 60. Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

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 crowned

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight

And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.