| 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 doth give an other place. | |
| I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument | 5 |
| Deserves the travail of a worthier pen; | |
| Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent | |
| He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. | |
| He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word | |
| From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give, | 10 |
| And found it in thy cheek; he can afford | |
| No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. | |
| Then thank him not for that which he doth say, | |
| Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. |