Shakespeare's Sonnet 3

Today’s poem is dedicated to my very good friend Bilikis, an amazing doctor, scientist, and supporter of The Beauty of Things Substack.

Sonnet 3

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
	But if thou live rememb’red not to be,
	Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

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And here is my summary couplet:

Go till your fields and with your seed renew
The beauty of your mother and of you.

Well, that’s good enough for now. Dear Mr. Shakespeare, I send my apologies.

I look forward to sharing the Sonnet 4 next. Thank you for listening!