Where art thou, muse, that thou forget'st so long
to speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
return, forgetful muse, and straight redeem5
in gentle numbers time so idly spent;
sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
and gives thy pen both skill and argument.
rise, resty muse, my love's sweet face survey,
if time have any wrinkle graven there; 10
if any, be a satire to decay,
and make time's spoils despised every where.
give my love fame faster than time wastes life;
so thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

what is the best paraphrase of line 9?

wake up, dear sleepyhead!
fame is fleeting, and so is life.
get up and look at his lovely face.
make him famous before he gets old.