If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second burden of a former child.
O, that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Whether we are mended, or whe'er better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.
O, sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
If there is nothing new under the sun, but that which
Has been before, how are our brains cheated,
Which, toiling to create something new, mistakenly
Brings forth something that already exists
O, that history could go back
Even five hundred years
To show me your picture in some old book,
At any time since thought was first put down in writing!
That I might see what an earlier time would say
To this wonderful beauty of your frame (mind, body, and soul);
Whether we are improved or they were better,
Or whether the cycle of years has yielded no better results.
O, I am sure of this, the wits [talented men] of former times
Have given praise to much worse subjects than this.