Then Let Not Winter'S Ragged Hand Deface, In Thee Thy Summer, Ere Thou Be Distill'D: Make Sweet Some Vial; Treasure Thou Some Place With Beauty'S Treasure Ere It Be Self-Kill'D. That Use Is Not Forbidden Usury, Which Happies Those That Pay The Willing Loan; That's For Thy Self To Breed Another Thee, Or Ten Times Happier, Be It Ten For One; Ten Times Thy Self Were Happier Than Thou Art, If Ten Of Thine Ten Times Refigur'D Thee: Then What Could Death Do If Thou Shouldst Depart, Leaving Thee Living In Posterity? Be Not Self-Will'D, For Thou Art Much Too Fair To Be Death'S Conquest And Make Worms Thine Heir.