Ah, time's relentless chisel sculpts my face,
And proves, of late, to be both swift and bold
As I, now forced from grace to some disgrace,
Am made to seem what you'd nigh deign to hold.
Time's hammer blows, increasing, so, in speed,
Though swift, miss not their chisel's given mark,
Hence my appearance, made to suffer need,
Is forced to prove, as I'm lamenting, stark.
But I, my Love, time's victim, doubting lies,
Do smart when you do call me handsome, still,
As my perception, with your claim, yet vies,
And tempts me, Love, to say that you are ill.
Ah, time's relentless chisel, cutting deep,
Would make me mourn, or you, pretending, weep!