My vernacular...aka my own words

In your vernacular, paraphrase the speaker's argument in either sonnet II or sonnet VIII


When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.


After you go through forty years, and you get wrinkly and tired looking, you'll look back on the wardrobes of your youth and see that it's nothing more than a worthless, tattered hand-me-down.


When you're asked "where did your beauty go? What happened to all the good times from your lusty days?", it'll show in your tired, worn eyes that you'll think it was practically worthless all along.


What's the point of staying so superficially beautiful when you can tell people "my beauty will pass down to my son, and he'll be the same way I was"? He'll prove your beauty by being beautiful himself


When you get old, you'll find your old beauty fresh within your son, and you'll get that warm & fuzzy feeling inside when you're all mopey and glum