OH 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 dignifi'd: Make answer Muse, wilt thou not haply say, Truth needs no colour with his colour fix'd, Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay: But best is best, if never intermix'd.
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 prais'd of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office Muse, I teach thee how, To make him seem long hence, as he shows now.
