If thou survive my well-contented day, <br />When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, <br />And shalt by fortune once more re-survey <br />These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, <br />Compare them with the bettering of the time, <br />And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, <br />Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, <br />Exceeded by the height of happier men. <br />O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: <br />"Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age <br />A dearer birth than this his love had brought, <br />To march in ranks of better equipage: <br />But since he died and poets better prove, <br />Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love."<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxxii-if-thou-survive-my-well-contented-d/
