Sonnet Lxxxii

William Shakespeare

     I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
     And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook
     The dedicated words which writers use
     Of their fair subject, blessing every book
     Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
     Finding thy worth a limit past my praise,
     And therefore art enforced to seek anew
     Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days
     And do so, love; yet when they have devised
     What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
     Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized
     In true plain words by thy true-telling friend;
     And their gross painting might be better used
     Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused.

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