Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance asideTo 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.
