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Where art | thou Muse | that thou | forgetst | so
long,
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To speak | of that | which gives | thee all | thy
might?
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Spendst thou | thy fu|ry on | some^worth|less
song,
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Darkening thy | power to | lend base sub|jects
light?
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Return | forget|ful Muse,| and straight | redeem,
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In gent|le num|bers time | so id|ly spent;
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Sing to | the ear | that doth | thy lays | esteem
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And gives | thy pen | both^skill | and arg|ument.
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Rise resty Muse,| my love's | sweet* face |
survey,
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If Time | have an|y wrink|le grav|en there;
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If an|y, be | a satire to | decay,
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And make Time's spoils | despis|ed eve|ry
where.
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Give^my | love^fame | faster than | Time wastes
life,
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So thou | preventst | his scythe | and crook|ed
knife.