Montecute Lyrics
To me, fair friend,
You never can be old.
For as you were, when first your eye,
I eyed,
Such seems you beuaty still.
Three winters cold have full forrests shook three summers pride.
Three beautious springs to yellow autumn turned.
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three april perfumes in three hot junes burned.
Since first I saw you fresh which later waned.
Ahh, yet doth beauty like a dour hand
Steal from his figure, only pace percieved.
So your sweet hue, which me thinks still doth stand
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Hath motion and mine eye may be decieved.
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbread
Air you were born was beatious summer dead.
