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But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?

Now stand you on the top of happy hours
And many maiden gardens, yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers
Much liker than your painted counterfeit

Lyrics continue below...

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So should the lines of life that life repair
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen
Neither in inward worth now outward fair
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill

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