Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, | 9
If Time have any wrinkle graven there; | 10
If any, be a satire to decay, | 11
And make Time's spoils despised every where. | 12
    Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life; | 13
    So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife. | 14
| | | | | |