No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wond'ring at the present, nor the past,
For thy records, and what we see doth lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste:
This I do vow and this shall ever be:
I will be true despite thy scythe and thee.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 107: Not Mine Own Fears, Nor The Prophetic Soul
- Sonnets Xviii: Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?
- Sonnet 120: That You Were Once Unkind Befriends Me Now
- Sonnet 73: That Time Of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold
- Sonnet 11: As Fast As Thou Shalt Wane, So Fast Thou Grow'st