Against My Love Shall Be As I Am Now, With Time'S Injurious Hand Crush'D And O'Erworn; When Hours Have Drain'D His Blood And Fill'D His Brow With Lines And Wrinkles; When His Youthful Morn Hath Travell'D On To Age'S Steepy Night; And All Those Beauties Whereof Now He's King Are Vanishing, Or Vanished Out Of Sight, Stealing Away The Treasure Of His Spring; For Such A Time Do I Now Fortify Against Confounding Age'S Cruel Knife, That He Shall Never Cut From Memory My Sweet Love'S Beauty, Though My Lover'S Life: His Beauty Shall In These Black Lines Be Seen, And They Shall Live, And He In Them Still Green.