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Poem	Whilst thus my pen strives to eternize thee, Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face, Where in the map of all my misery Is modell'd out the world of my disgrace. Whilst, in despite of tyrannizing times, Medea-like, I make thee young again, Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rhymes And murtherest virtue with thy coy disdain. And though in youth my youth untimely perish, To keep thee from oblivion and the grave Ensuing ages yet my rhymes shall cherish, When I entomb'd, my better part shall save; And though this earthly body fade and die, My name shall mount upon eternity.
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