The Sonnets

O truant Muse what shall be thy amends

For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyʼd?

Both truth and beauty on my love depends;

So dost thou too, and therein dignified.

Make answer Muse: wilt thou not haply say,

ʼTruth needs no colour, with his colour fixʼd;

Beauty no pencil, beautyʼs truth to lay;

But best is best, if never intermixʼdʼ?

Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?

Excuse not silence so, forʼt lies in thee

To make him much outlive a gilded tomb

And to be praisʼd of ages yet to be.

Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how

To make him seem long hence as he shows now.