Sonnet Lxxvi

William Shakespeare

     Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
     So far from variation or quick change?
     Why with the time do I not glance aside
     To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
     Why write I still all one, ever the same,
     And keep invention in a noted weed,
     That every word doth almost tell my name,
     Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
     O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
     And you and love are still my argument;
     So all my best is dressing old words new,
     Spending again what is already spent:
     For as the sun is daily new and old,
     So is my love still telling what is told.

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