WHY is my verse so
barren of new pride |
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So far from variation or quick change? |
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Why with the time do I not glance aside |
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To new-found methods and to compounds strange? |
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Why write I still all one, ever the same, |
5 |
And keep invention in a noted weed, |
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That every word doth almost tell my name, |
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Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? |
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O! know, sweet love, I always write of you, |
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And you and love are still my argument; |
10 |
So all my best is dressing old words new, |
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Spending again what is already spent: |
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For as the sun is daily new and
old, |
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So is my love still telling what
is told. |
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