Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewst, Now is the time that face should form another, Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Or who is he so fond will be the tomb Of his self-love, to stop posterity? Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime; So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. But if thou live rememb'rd not to be, Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 
You and your images, Dramatic Bill!
Now the poor young man has to have a chat
with the young mirror man — all to fulfill
some idle plan of yours. To heck with that!
When young men hear advice, they smell a rat.
And who’s the rat in this case, Shakepeare? You!
On most, your brilliant phrases will fall flat
at last, as words inevitably do.
This youngster’s not an actor, seeks no cue.
You might as well be, say, Polonius.
Hamlet himself would yawn and run you through
if in his royal face you babbled thus.
The young man begs you: spare him all your lore!
He’ll marry when he wants to. Not before.
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nicely said
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