My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill,
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words,
And like unlettered clerk still cry "Amen"
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polished form of well-refinèd pen.
Hearing you praised, I say "'Tis so, 'tis true,"
And to the most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you,
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
Then others for the breath of words respect,
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 89: Say That Thou Didst Forsake Me For Some Fault
- Sonnet 137: Thou Blind Fool, Love, What Dost Thou To Mine Eyes
- Sonnet 43: When Most I Wink, Then Do Mine Eyes Best See
- Sonnet 65: Since Brass, Nor Stone, Nor Earth, Nor Boundless Sea
- Sonnet Cxvi