1577WHen in the Chronicle of wasted time,

1578I see discriptions of the fairest wights,

1579And beautie making beautifull old rime,

1580In praise of Ladies dead, and louely Knights,

1581Then in the blazon of sweet beauties best,

1582Of hand, of foote, of lip, of eye, of brow,

1583I see their antique Pen would haue exprest,

1584Euen such a beauty as you maister now.

1585So all their praises are but prophesies

1586Of this our time, all you prefiguring,

1587And for they look'd but with deuining eyes,

1588They had not still enough your worth to sing :

1589 For we which now behold these present dayes,

1590Haue eyes to wonder, but lack toungs to praise.

1592NOt mine owne feares, nor the prophetick soule,

1593Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come,

1594Can yet the lease of my true loue controule,

1595Supposde as forfeit to a confin'd doome.

1596The mortall Moone hath her eclipse indur'de,

1597And the sad Augurs mock their owne presage,

1598Incertenties now crowne them-selues assur'de,

1599And peace proclaimes Oliues of endlesse age,

1600Now with the drops of this most balmie time,

1601My loue lookes fresh, and death to me subscribes,

1602Since spight of him Ile liue in this poore rime,

1603While he insults ore dull and speachlesse tribes.

1604 And thou in this shalt finde thy monument,

1605When tyrants crests and tombs of brasse are spent.

1607WHat's in the braine that Inck may character ,

1608Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit,

1609What's new to speake, what now to register,

1610That may expresse my loue, or thy deare merit ?

1611Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers diuine,

1612I must each day say ore the very same,

1613Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,

1614Euen as when first I hallowed thy faire name.

1615So that eternall loue in loues fresh case,

1616Waighes not the dust and iniury of age,

1617Nor giues to necessary wrinckles place,

1618But makes antiquitie for aye his page,

1619 Finding the first conceit of loue there bred,

1620Where time and outward forme would shew it dead,