LXXVI. Why is my verse so barren of new pride, Why with the time do I not glance aside And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my name, For as the fun is daily new and old, LXXVII. Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Look, what thy memory cannot contain Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain, To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book. LXXVIII. So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to fing And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, Have added feathers to the learned's wing And given grace a double majesty. Yet be most proud of that which I compile, LXXIX. Whilft I alone did call upon thy aid, LXXX. O, how I faint when I of you do write, The humble as the proudeft fail doth bear, On broad main doth wilfully appear. your Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, The worst was this; my love was my decay. |