Whilst thus my Pen striues to eternize thee,
Age rules my Lines with Wrinkles in my Face,
Where, in the Map of all my Miserie,
Is model’d out the World of my Disgrace;
Whilst in despite of tyrannizing Times,
Medea-like, I make thee young againe,
Proudly thou scorn’st my World-out-wearing Rimes,
And murther’st Vertue with thy coy disdaine:
And though in youth, my Youth vntimely perish,
To keepe Thee from Obliuion and the Graue,
Ensuing Ages yet my Rimes shall cherish,
When I intomb’d, my better part shall saue;
And though this Earthly Body fade and die,
My Name shall mount vpon Eternitie.