{"product_id":"2940012983121","title":"THE SONNETS","description":"I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  From fairest creatures we desire increase,\u003cbr\u003e  That thereby beauty's rose might never die,\u003cbr\u003e  But as the riper should by time decease,\u003cbr\u003e  His tender heir might bear his memory:\u003cbr\u003e  But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,\u003cbr\u003e  Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,\u003cbr\u003e  Making a famine where abundance lies,\u003cbr\u003e  Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:\u003cbr\u003e  Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,\u003cbr\u003e  And only herald to the gaudy spring,\u003cbr\u003e  Within thine own bud buriest thy content,\u003cbr\u003e  And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:\u003cbr\u003e    Pity the world, or else this glutton be,\u003cbr\u003e    To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  II\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,\u003cbr\u003e  And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,\u003cbr\u003e  Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,\u003cbr\u003e  Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:\u003cbr\u003e  Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,\u003cbr\u003e  Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;\u003cbr\u003e  To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,\u003cbr\u003e  Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.\u003cbr\u003e  How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,\u003cbr\u003e  If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine\u003cbr\u003e  Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'\u003cbr\u003e  Proving his beauty by succession thine!\u003cbr\u003e    This were to be new made when thou art old,\u003cbr\u003e    And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  III\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest\u003cbr\u003e  Now is the time that face should form another;\u003cbr\u003e  Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,\u003cbr\u003e  Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.\u003cbr\u003e  For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb\u003cbr\u003e  Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?\u003cbr\u003e  Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,\u003cbr\u003e  Of his self-love to stop posterity?\u003cbr\u003e  Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee\u003cbr\u003e  Calls back the lovely April of her prime;\u003cbr\u003e  So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,\u003cbr\u003e  Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.\u003cbr\u003e    But if thou live, remember'd not to be,\u003cbr\u003e    Die single and thine image dies with thee.","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47156816740592,"sku":"2940012983121","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940012983121_p0.jpg?v=1763586351","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940012983121","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}