Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long...
Sonnet 100Where 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. |
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What’ve you been up to, my Muse, that’s been keeping you away from talking about the source of your power? Are you wasting time on useless things, trying to make silk purses out of pigs’ ears? Get back here and make up for lost time. Sing to the one who values your songs, and gives you your ability and your raison d'etre. Go and see if there are any new wrinkles on my love’s face, and if there are, counteract them: make my love famous quicker than Time can take away the minutes of life, and so forestall his scythe.