If my dear love were but the child of state, <br />It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered, <br />As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate, <br />Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. <br />No, it was builded far from accident; <br />It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls <br />Under the blow of thralled discontent, <br />Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls. <br />It fears not policy, that heretic, <br />Which works on leases of short-numbered hours, <br />But all alone stands hugely politic, <br />That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. <br /> To this I witness call the fools of Time, <br /> Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-124-if-my-dear-love-were-but-the-child-of/
