Sonnet XXXVIII
How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
Sonnet XXXVIII
How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
Sonnet XXXVIII
How can my inspiration want to study to invent,
While they do breathe, that pour into my rhymes
Your own sweet argument, too excellent
For every lack of sophistication on paper to rehearse?
O, give oneself the thanks, if anything at all in me
Worthy scrutiny, stand against your sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to you,
When you, yourself do give invention light?
Be you, the tenth inspiration, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invoke;
And he that calls on you, let him bring forth
Existing numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight inspiration do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but you shall be the praise.
