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 redeem
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;
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 central idea of the third quatrain?

If you see my love aging, work against it.
Do not be lazy; we are all running out of time.
Make fun of time, and turn people against it.
Write something to ridicule my love’s wrinkles.