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William Shakespeare, 1564-1616 [1640], Poems: vvritten by Wil. Shake-speare. Gent (Printed... by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold by Iohn Benson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11600].

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An invocation to his Muse. [Sonnet C / Sonnet CI]
Where art thou Muse that thou forgetst so long,
To speake of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spendst thou thy fury on some worthlesse song,
Darkning thy power to lend base subjects light.
Returne forgetfull Muse, and straight redeeme,
In gentle numbers time so idely spent,
Sing to the eare that doth thy laies esteeme,
And give thy pen both skill and argument.

-- --

Rise resty Muse, my loves sweet face survay,
If time have any wrincle graven there,
If any, be a Satire to decay,
And make times spoiles dispised every where.
  Give my love fame, faster then time wasts life,
  So thou prevenst his Sithe, and crooked knife.
Oh truant Muse what shall be thy amends,
For thy neglect of truth in beautie di'd?
But truth and beautie on my love depends:
So dost thou too, and therein dignifi'd:
Make answer Muse, wilt thou not haply say,
Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt,
Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay:
But best is best, if never intermixt.
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumbe?
Excuse not silence so, for't lies in thee,
To make her much out-live a gilded tombe:
And to be prais'd of ages yet to be.
  Then doe thy office muse, I teach thee how,
  To make her seeme long hence, as she showes now.
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William Shakespeare, 1564-1616 [1640], Poems: vvritten by Wil. Shake-speare. Gent (Printed... by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold by Iohn Benson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11600].