sonnet 79 - the marlowe society lyrics
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whilst i alone did call upon thy aid
my verse alone had all thy gentle grace;
but now my gracious numbers are decayed
and my sick muse doth give another place
i grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
deserves the travail of a worthier pen;
yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
he robs thee of, and pays it thee again;
he lends thee virtue, and he stole that word
from thy behavior; beauty doth he give
and found it in thy cheek; he can afford
no praise to thee, but what in thee doth live:
then thank him not for that which he doth say
since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay
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