XXXVII.

As a decrepit father takes delight

To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
any of these all, or all, or more,

Or

Entitled in thy parts do crowned fit,

I make my love engrafted to this store:

So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,

Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give That I in thy abundance am fufficed

And by a part of all thy glory live.

Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee:

This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

XXXVIII.

How can my Muse want subject to invent,

While thou doft breathe, that pour'it into my verse
Thine own fweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perufal stand against thy fight;

For who's fo dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rimers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.

If my flight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.