William Shakespeare, Sonnet cxxiv
If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd ,
As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate,
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Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd .
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
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Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls.
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
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That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers.
To this I witness call the fools of time,
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime.