XCVI. Some fay, thy fault is youth, fome wantonnefs; The baseft jewel will be well efteem'd, So are thofe errors that in thee are seen To truths tranflated and for true things deem'd. As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. XCVII. How like a winter hath my absence been And yet this time removed was fummer's time; But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit; That leaves look pale, dreading the winter s near. 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, As with your shadow I with these did play. Sweet thief, whence didft thou fteal thy sweet that And buds of marjoram had ftol'n thy hair; More flowers I noted, yet I none could fee C. Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long If any, be a fatire to decay, graven there; And make Time's spoils despised every where. Give my love fame fafter than Time waftes life; So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife. |