1 When in the chronicle of wasted time
2 I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
3 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
4 In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
5 Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
6 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
7 I see their antique pen would have express'd
8 Even such a beauty as you master now.
9 So all their praises are but prophecies
10 Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
11 And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,
12 They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
13 For we, which now behold these present days,
14 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
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