19

Deuouring time blunt thou the Lyons pawes,
And make the earth deuoure her owne ſweet brood,
Plucke the keene teeth from the fierce Tygers yawes,
And burne the long liu’d Phænix in her blood,
Make glad and ſorry ſeaſons as thou fleet’ſt,
And do what ere thou wilt ſwift-footed time
TO the wilde world and all her fading ſweets:
But I forbid thee one moſt hainous crime,
O carue not with thy howers my loues faire brow,
Nor draw noe lines there with thine antique pen,
Him in thy courſe vntainted doe allow,
For beauties patterne to ſucceding men.
   Yet doe thy worſt old Time diſpight thy wrong,
   My loue ſhall in my verſe euer liue young.

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