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 doft thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Mufe: wilt thou not haply say,
'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But beft is beft, if never intermix'd'?
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excule not filence fo; 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, Mufe; I teach thee how
To make him feem long hence as he shows now.