(after Shakespeare)

Look in your glass and tell the face beheld
The time has come, dear face, to make another
The same as you, don’t swindle from the world
Its only end, nor blessings from a mother.

Show me a wench who’d leave her womb unsown
If you would come to till her field! You love
Yourself and lying in a grave alone
So much? Are your own ends, alone, enough?

You are your mother’s and your mother’s glass,
She sees in you her greener years though grey.
Soon, windows smeared, you too some vibrant grass
Will seek to brighten up a fading day.

He dies who dies alone without a pair,
He lives through death who dies with living heir.