Sonnet CXLVI
Shakespeare
1890
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth
Why feed'st these rebel powers that thee array
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss
And let that pine to aggravate thy store
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross
Within be fed, without be rich no more
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
