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