Who will trust my lyric is so just
If be it thought just satirical farce?
As it is, many think I merely jest
When carrying the line in new arts.
I could ink the glamour of lovely eyes
And with devices tally up ladies graces,
But generations would claim I tell lies,
As angels keep to themselves such faces.
So if my aging lines keep to their page,
Tho slighted be, by some quick of tongue,
I could coyly claim ladies be all the rage;
In an expanded measure of an new lay sung.
But were these graces just borne by my writ
None would be just in my eyes to try me by it.