| |
|
CI.
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 dost thou too, and therein
dignified.
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say
'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty
no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best,
if never intermix'd?'
Because he needs no praise,
wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so; 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, Muse; I teach thee how
To make him seem long
hence as he shows now.
|
|
|
