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| SONNET 78 |
| So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse |
| And found such fair assistance in my verse |
| As every alien pen hath got my use |
| And under thee their poesy disperse. |
| Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing |
| And heavy ignorance aloft to fly |
| Have added feathers to the learned's wing |
| And given grace a double majesty. |
| Yet be most proud of that which I compile, |
| Whose influence is thine and born of thee: |
| In others' works thou dost but mend the style, |
| And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; |
| But thou art all my art and dost advance |
| As high as learning my rude ignorance. |