Sonnet 77

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,

Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;

The vacant leaves thy mind’s imprint will bear,

And of this book this learning mayst thou taste;

The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show

Of mouthèd graves will give thee memory;

Thou by thy dial’s shady stealth mayst know

Time’s thievish progress to eternity.

Look what thy memory cannot contain

Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find

Those children nursed, deliver’d from thy brain,

To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.

These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,

Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.

Your mirror will show how your beauties wear,

The time how the precious minutes waste.

But pages will showcase a beauty more fair:

Your soul in this book forever faced.

The signs of your aging will be accurate in your mirror,

Wrinkles will serve as a memory

That death is coming, and the clock’s clandestine hour

Will hide reminders of approaching eternity.

But all else you cannot retain

Will be stored here in this book.

Find peace and rest your brain.

Here too you can always look.

Anytime from clocks and mirrors, switch into these pages

And see the love and fruit this book always presages.