Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time,
    And fortify yourself in your decay
    With means more bless d 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:
    So should the lines of life that life repair
    Which this time's pencil or my pupil pen
    Neither in inward worth nor 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.