Il testo della Xi. montecute (civ)

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye i eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have i seen,
Three april perfumes in three hot junes burn'd,
Since first i saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred;
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.