Shakespeare's Sonnets: Lo in the orient when the gracious light

Lo in the orient when the gracious lightLifts up his burning head, each under-eyeDoth homage to his new-appearing sight,Serving with looks his sacred majesty,And having climb'd the steep-up heav'nly hill,Resembling strong youth in his middle age,Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,Attending on his golden pilgrimage:But when from high-most pitch with weary car,Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,The eyes (fore-dut'ous) now converted areFrom his low tract and look an other way: So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon, Unlook'd on die'st unless thou get a son.