For I could tell you a story which is true; I know a lady with a terrible tongue, Blear eyes fallen from blue, All her perfections tarnished-and yet it is not long Since she was lovelier than any of you.

And weeping fast as she had breath Janet implored us, 'Wake her from her sleep!' And would not be instructed in how deep Was the forgetful kingdom of death.

And a wandering beauty is a blade out of its scabbard. You know how dangerous, gentlemen of threescore? May you know it yet ten more.

Here lies a lady of beauty and high degree. Of chills and fever she died, of fever and chills, The delight of her husbands, her aunts, an infant of three, And …

Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, a la chandelle, Assise aupres du feu, devidant et filant, Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous emerveillant: 'Ronsard me c…

Beauty's of a fading nature Has a season and is gone!

Besides, time, which despoils castles, enriches verses . . . Time broadens the scope of verses and I know of some which, like music, are everything for all men.