From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
Note: This sonnet is for a male friend of his who is apparently very good looking. He implores him to procreate so that his beauty lives on for others to enjoy instead of creating "a famine where abundance lies". This man is his own enemy and doesn't take hold of the opportunity while he still has his youth and his hoarding his gifts. He should pity this world and let it have some of his beauty or like the grave consumes all he is also 'eating' what is due to the world. For more details, see here.
