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LXXVII.
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy
dial how thy precious minutes waste;
The vacant
leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book
this learning mayst thou taste.
The wrinkles which
thy glass will truly show
Of mouthed graves will give
thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst
know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look,
what thy memory can not contain
Commit to these waste
blanks, and thou shalt find
Those children nursed,
deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance
of thy mind.
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.
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