For who's so dumbe that cannot write to thee,
When thou thy selfe dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Then those old nine which rimers invocate,
And he that cals on thee, let him bring forth
Eternall numbers to out-live long date.
  If my slight Muse doe please these curious dayes,
  The paine be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
Oh how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine owne praise to mine owne selfe bring;
And what is't but mine owne when I praise thee,
Even for this, let us devided live,
And our deare love loose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give:
That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone:
Oh absence what a torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy soure leisure gave sweet leave,
To entertaine the time with thoughts of love,
VVhich time and thoughts so sweetly dost deceive.
  And that thou teachest how to make one twaine,
  By praysing him here who doth hence remaine.
Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all,
What hast thou then more then thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call,
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more:
Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest,
But yet be blam'd, if thou this selfe deceavest
By wilfull taste of what thy selfe refusest.
I doe forgive thy robb'ry gentle theefe
Although thou steale thee all my povertie:

And yet love knowes it is a greater griefe
To beare loves wrong, then hates knowne injury.
  Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well showes,
  Kill me with spights yet we must not be foes

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