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Michael Drayton - Sonnet VIII: There`s Nothing Grieves Me
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There`s nothing grieves me, but that Age should haste, 
That in my days I may not see thee old, 
That where those two clear sparkling eyes are plac`d 
Only two loop-holes then I might behold; 
That lovely, arched, ivory, polish`d brow 
Defac`d with wrinkles that I might but see; 
Thy dainty hair, so curl`d and crisped now, 
Like grizzled moss upon some aged tree; 
Thy cheek, now flush with roses, sunk and lean; 
Thy lips with age as any wafer thin; 
Thy pearly teeth out of thy head so clean 
That, when thou feed`st, thy nose shall touch thy chin. 
These lines that now thou scorn`st, which should delight thee, 
Then would I make thee read but to despite thee.
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