LXXV So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground； And for the peace of you I hold such strife As ...
LXXVI 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...
LXXVII Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste； These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, ...
LXXVIII So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse, And found such fair assistance in my verse As every alien pen hath got my use And under thee their poe...
LXXIX Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, My verse alone had all thy gentle grace； But now my gracious numbers are decay'd, And my sick Muse dot...
LXXX O！ how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might, To make me ton...
LXXXI Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten； From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each pa...
LXXXII I grant thou wert not married to my Muse, And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook The dedicated words which writers use Of their fair ...
LXXXIII I never saw that you did painting need, And therefore to your fair no painting set； I found, or thought I found, you did exceed That barren te...
LXXXIV Who is it that says most, which can say more, Than this rich praise,-that you alone, are you？ In whose confine immured is the store Which shoul...