Volta project, part 126

Today’s second sonnet (before I head home early):

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CXXVI

  O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

  Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his fickle hour;

  Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st

  Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.

  If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,

  As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,

  She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill

  May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.

  Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!

  She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:

    Her audit (though delayed) answered must be,

    And her quietus is to render thee.

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The turns are roughly evenly spaced at the end of this one:  The yet in line 9, the but in line 10, and the though in line 11, building up to the last point of the metaphor in the final line.  Written in rhymed couplets, and twelve lines long, so Shakespeare was actually flexible about form  J  More tomorrow.