Lyrics - Xi. Montecute (civ) by Coil

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye
I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still.
Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have
I seen,
Three
April perfumes in three hot
Junes burn'd,
Since first
I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred;
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

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