Sonnet Ci

William Shakespeare

     O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
     For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
     Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
     So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
     Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say
     'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
     Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
     But best is best, if never intermix'd?'
     Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
     Excuse not silence so; for't lies in thee
     To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
     And to be praised of ages yet to be.
     Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
     To make him seem long hence as he shows now.

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