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| SONNET 76 |
| 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 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. |
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