16

Bvt wherefore do not you a mightier waie
Make warre vppon this bloudie tirant time?
And fortifie your ſelfe in your decay
With meanes more bleſſed then my barren rime?
Now ſtand you on the top of happie houres,
And many maiden gardens yet vnſet,
With vertuous wiſh would beare your living flowers,
Much liker then your painted counterfeit:
So ſhould the lines of life that life repaire
Which this (Times penſel of my pupill pen)
Neither in inward worth nor outward faire
Can make you liue your ſelfe in eies of men,
   To giue away your ſelfe,keeps you ſelfe ſtill,
   And you muſte liue drawne by your owne ſweet skill,

Zie ook het online-facsimile van de oorspronkelijke uitgave (site helaas niet altijd bereikbaar).