NOt marble, nor the gilded monuments, Of Princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall Statues over-turn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn: The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room, Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So till the judgement that your self arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
