Shakespeare's Sonnets

Sonnet 2

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,

Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,

Will be a totter'd w**d of small worth held:

Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,

Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;

To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,

Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.

How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,

If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine

Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'

Proving his beauty by succession thine!

   This were to be new made when thou art old,

   And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

Commentary

3. livery: distinguishing garb (youthful beauty)

4. tottered: ragged; w**d: pun on ''garment.''

8. thriftless praise: praise that really reveals your lack of thrift; lefthanded praise.

9. deserved thy beauty's use: would you deserve for making profitable use of your beauty (with a pun on s****l sense of use.) 

11. sum my count: render my audit; make my old excuse; defend my old age from a charge of spending all the beauty entrusted to me and having nothing to show for it.

12.  by succession thine: inherited from you. 

13. were: would be.