I know it’s
really late, but I didn’t want to skip a day ausgerechnet on the brink of #100:
______________________________________
C
Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so
long,
To speak of that which gives thee all thy
might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless
song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects
light?
Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem,
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face
survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes
life,
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked
knife.
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The volta
would be the if any at the beginning
of line 11. More tomorrow—
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