O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd? 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 color with his color 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 prais'd of ages yet to be.     Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how     To make him seem long hence, as he shows now.