Shakespeare's Sonnets: O thou my lovely boy, who in thy pow'r

O thou my lovely boy, who in thy pow'rDost hold time's fickle glass, his fickle hour,Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st,Thy lover's with'ring, as thy sweet self grow'st,If nature (sov'reign mistress over wrack)As thou go'st onwards still will pluck thee back,She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skillMay time disgrace, and wretched minute kill.Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure,She may detain but not still keep her treasure!Her audit (though delay'd) answer'd must be,And her quietus is to render thee.