Classic Poem

I want no loue , how ere my skill may faile,
In Honor's Catalogue your names to putt,
Yet now am forc'd them (al vnseene) to shutt
In these straite Lines , as in the Muses' Iaile.
Where Ile detaine them (not without your leaue)
Till I doe set them foorth with better grace,
Each one in his true Coulors, forme , and place ,
And as I found them faire , so them to leave
When you awhile before my Muse have sate,
(For Painters make them sitt , whose formes they paint)
Her skill shall faile, but then shee will depaint
According to the Life , your life , and State :
Pictures are vs'd, life , after death to sho,
And youres, my Pen must picture, shalbe so