101

O truant muse, what shall be thy amends

For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?

Both truth and beauty on my love depends;

So dost thou too, and therein dignified.

Make answer, muse, wilt thou not haply say,

“Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed,

Beauty no pencil, beauty’s truth to lay;

But best is best if never intermixed”?

Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?

Excuse not silence so, for ‘t lies in thee

To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,

And to be praised of ages yet to be.

Then do thy office, muse; I teach thee how

To make him seem long hence as he shows now.