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When in the chronicle of wasted timeI view descriptions of the fairemainder wights,And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,In praise of females dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s ideal,Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,I view their antique pen would certainly have actually expressedEven such a beauty as you grasp now.
So all their praises are yet propheciesOf this our time, all you prefiguring;And for they looked however through divining eyes,They had not ability sufficient your worth to sing:
For we, which currently behost these present days,Have eyes to wonder, yet absence tongues to praise.
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WHen in the Chronicle of wasted time,I view discriptions of the fairest wights,And beautie making beauticomplete old rime,In praise of Ladies dead, and also louely Knights,Then in the blazon of sweet beauties finest,Of hand, of foote, of lip, of eye, of brow,I see their antique Pen would haue exprest,Euen such a beauty as you maister now.So all their praises are yet prophesiesOf this our time, all you prefiguring,And for they look’d however through deuining eyes,They had actually not still sufficient your worth to sing:For we which currently behost these present dayes,Haue eyes to wonder, but lack toungs to praise.