When fourty nights shall beside you brow  and dig deep wounds in your beauty now  Your youth's proud livery so gazed on me  tomorrow will be darkened sealed    Look how a bird lies tangeled in a net  Pure shame and awed resistance made him fred  So fastened in her arms the favoured lies  She found more beauty in his varied eyes    Cut is the brunch that might be grown  with you faith, the treasure of your lusty days    Then being asked where all your beauty lies  I say it to your deep-sunken eyes  "As if the dead the living should exceed  possessed by heavens heart and hand"    He burns with basful shame  She with her tears does quench the maiden  burning off her cheeks  Then with her windy sighs and golden hands  to fain and blow them dry again she seeks    Look how a painter would surpass his life  His art with nature's workmanship at strife  In limmming out a well-proportioned steed  as if the dead the living should exceed