Sonnet 82: I grant thou wert not married to my Muse

1I grant thou wert not married to my Muse,

2And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook

3The dedicated words which writers use

4Of their fair subject, blessing every book.

5Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,

6Finding thy worth a limit past my praise;

7And therefore art enforced to seek anew

8Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days.

9And do so, love; yet when they have devis'd,

10What strained touches rhetoric can lend,

11Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathiz'd

12In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend;

13 And their gross painting might be better us'd

14 Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd.