Sonnet 79: Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid

1Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,

2My verse alone had all thy gentle grace;

3But now my gracious numbers are decay'd,

4And my sick Muse doth give an other place.

5I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument

6Deserves the travail of a worthier pen;

7Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent

8He robs thee of, and pays it thee again.

9He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word

10From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give,

11And found it in thy cheek: he can afford

12No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.

13 Then thank him not for that which he doth say,

14 Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay.