Why is my verse so barren of new
pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds
strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the
same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my
name,
Showing their birth and where they did
proceed?
O, know, sweet love, I always write of
you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words
new,
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is
told.
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Shakespeare's Sonnets:
