Sonnet 32. If thou survive my well-contented day

If thou survive my well-contented day

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover

And shalt by fortune once more re-survey

These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover

Compare them with the bettering of the time

And though they be outstripp'd by every pen

Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme

Exceeded by the height of happier men.