Sonnet 9

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eyeThat thou consumest thyself in single life?Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;The world will be thy widow and still weepThat thou no form of thee hast left behind,When every private widow well may keepBy children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spendShifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,And kept unused, the user so destroys it. No love toward others in that bosom sits That on himself such murderous shame commits.
You're worried your widow would swoon?That argument's quite picayune.We're now nine poems in,start making some kin.I ain't stopping 'til you change your tune