Sonnet XXIII Time Cruel Time

Time, cruel Time, come and subdue that brow Which conquers all but thee, and thee, too, stays As if she were exempt from scythe or bow,

From love or years unsubject to decays.

Or art thou grown in league with those fair eyes That they may help thee to consume our days?

Or dost thou spare her for her cruelties,

Being merciless like thee that no man weighs?

And yet thou seest thy power she disobeys,

Cares not for thee, but lets thee waste in vain,

And prodigal of hours and years betrays Beauty and youth t'opinion and disdain.

Yet spare her,

Time, let her exempted be,

She may become more kind to thee or me.