1593-1603 by Shakespeare 
Sonnet 32 

1	If thou survive my well-contented day
2	When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover,
3	And shalt by fortune once more resurvey
4	These poor rude lines of thy deceasèd lover,
5	Compare them with the bett’ring of the time,
6	And though they be outstripped by every pen,
7	Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme
8	Exceeded by the height of happier men.
9	O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
10	“Had my friend’s muse grown with this growing age,
11	A dearer birth than this his love had brought
12	To march in ranks of better equipage#
13	But since he died, and poets better prove,
14	Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love.”