Sonnet 38

How can my Muse want subject to invent,While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verseThine own sweet argument, too excellentFor every vulgar paper to rehearse?O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in meWorthy perusal stand against thy sight;For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,When thou thyself dost give invention light?Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worthThan those old nine which rhymers invocate;And he that calls on thee, let him bring forthEternal numbers to outlive long date. If my slight Muse do please these curious days, The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
I'm tired of the tired venerationof obsolete Muses. Creationcomes from passionate groans,not those boring old crones.Look to lovers for true inspiration.