http://www.shakespeare-online.com/sonnets/3.html
Friend, you think too much of unborn children,
But think, good sir, I am ready for none.
My home is but a small and tiny den
My income not yet prepared for a son.
My face, though a glass for my dear mother
Needs not a glass till it be old and aged.
And if this son should desire a brother,
My mistress would, I fear, become enraged.
Spare me thy thoughts on life, thy ill advice.
I need not counsel but your art alone.
Keep your wisdom out, or keep it concise.
Let this sonnet to you be surely shown,
My home is but a small and tiny den
My income not yet prepared for a son.
My face, though a glass for my dear mother
Needs not a glass till it be old and aged.
And if this son should desire a brother,
My mistress would, I fear, become enraged.
Spare me thy thoughts on life, thy ill advice.
I need not counsel but your art alone.
Keep your wisdom out, or keep it concise.
Let this sonnet to you be surely shown,
So everyone may know my strong intent
to avoid your thought, though it was well meant.
to avoid your thought, though it was well meant.
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