[- Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world {- dreaming -} on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a [confined] d o o m. } The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured And the sad augurs mock their own presage; } Incertainties now crown themselves assured And peace proclaims olives of {- endless -} age. }
[- Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and [death] to me subscribes, } Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes: } And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are s p e n t. } -]
