Classic Poem

VVhen winter snowes vpon thy sable haires,
And frost of age hath nipt thy beauties neere,
When darke shall seeme thy day that neuer cleares,
And all lies withred that was held so deere.
Then take this picture which I here present thee,
Limmed with a Pensill not all vnworthy:
Here see the gifts that God and nature lent thee,
Here read thy selfe, and what I suffred for thee.
This may remaine thy lasting monument,
Which happily posterity may cherrish,
These colours with thy fading are not spent,
These may remaine when thou and I shall perish.
If they remaine, then thou shalt liue thereby,
They will remaine, and so thou canst not die.