Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth...
Sonnet 103Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside! O, blame me not, if I no more can write! Look in your glass, and there appears a face That over-goes my blunt invention quite, Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace. Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, To mar the subject that before was well? For to no other pass my verses tend Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; And more, much more, than in my verse can sit Your own glass shows you when you look in it. |
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Dear me, how pathetic my creative Muse is when it can’t embellish its subject a little! Please excuse my not writing, because in your mirror I see a face that quite transcends anything my slow imagination could dream up, putting my writing to shame. It’s wrong to try to improve perfection, and the only thing I try to do in my verse is talk about how wonderful you are – but a picture tells a thousand words and your mirror will be much more eloquently than anything I can put down in verse.