XCVIII. From you have I been absent in the spring, That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; Yet feem'd it winter ftill, and, you away, XCIX. The forward violet thus did I chide : [fmells, Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy fweet that If not from my love's breath? The purple pride Which on thy foft cheek for complexion dwells And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair ; More flowers I noted, yet I none could fee C. Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long And make Time's fpoils defpifed every where. CI. O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb ? To make him much outlive a gilded tomb Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how To make him feem long hence as he shows now. CII. My love is ftrengthen'd, though more weak in seem- Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. |