1171Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid

1172My verse alone had all thy gentle grace;

1173But now my gracious numbers are decayed,

1174And my sick Muse doth give another place.

1175I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument

1176Deserves the travail of a worthier pen;

1177Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent

1178He robs thee of, and pays it thee again;

1179He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word

1180From thy behavior; beauty doth he give,

1181And found it in thy cheek; he can afford

1182No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.

1183 Then thank him not for that which he doth say,

1184 Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay.

1186Oh, how I faint when I of you do write,

1187Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,

1188And in the praise thereof spends all his might,

1189To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.

1190But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,

1191The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,

1192My saucy bark, inferior far to his,

1193On your broad main doth wilfully appear.

1194Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,

1195Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;

1196Or, being wrecked, I am a worthless boat,

1197He of tall building, and of goodly pride.

1198 Then if he thrive, and I be cast away,

1199 The worst was this: my love was my decay.

1201Or I shall live, your epitaph to make,

1202Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;

1203From hence your memory death cannot take,

1204Although in me each part will be forgotten.

1205Your name from hence immortal life shall have,

1206Though I, once gone, to all the world must die;

1207The earth can yield me but a common grave,

1208When you entombèd in men's eyes shall lie.

1209Your monument shall be my gentle verse,

1210Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,

1211And tongues-to-be your being shall rehearse,

1212When all the breathers of this world are dead.

1213 You still shall live, such virtue hath my pen,

1214 Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.