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 to compounds strange？ Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted¹ 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 dressing² 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.