Sonnet 12, William Shakespeare, 1609
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk into hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silvered over with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy herd,
And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow,
And nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defense
Save breed to brave him when he takes thee hence.
Shakespeare, William. "Sonnet 12." Nfs.sparknotes.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 26 Apr. 2016.
What is the effect of capitalizing “Time” in line 13?