Sonnet 78

So oft have I invoked thee for my MuseAnd found such fair assistance in my verseAs every alien pen hath got my useAnd under thee their poesy disperse.Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to singAnd heavy ignorance aloft to flyHave added feathers to the learned's wingAnd given grace a double majesty.Yet be most proud of that which I compile,Whose influence is thine and born of thee:In others' works thou dost but mend the style,And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; But thou art all my art and dost advance As high as learning my rude ignorance.
I 'spose I must now outmaneuverthese lovesick young bards who'd "improve" thegrace of their bookswith your lofty looks.My muse, you've bewitched the whole oeuvre.