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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539202" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet 38:</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539202" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">How can my muse want subject to invent,<br>While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse<br>Thine own sweet argument, too excellent<br>For every vulgar paper to rehearse?<br>O! give thy self the thanks, if aught in me<br>Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;<br>For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,<br>When thou thy self dost give invention light? <br>Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth<br>Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;<br>And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth<br>Eternal numbers to outlive long date.<br>If my slight muse do please these curious days,<br>The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Shakespeare">William Shakespeare</a></strong></div>

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