Sonnet C

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

by William Shakespeare

Comments (5)

There was probably an interval of some months between this and the last Sonnet; and very likely there had been no personal interview between the poet and his friend for a still longer period (lines 9,10) . The poet now calls upon his Muse to resume her strains, and, in defiance of Time, to celebrate the fame of his friend.
Awesome I like this poem, check mine out
~Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life; So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife. ~ ......no worries William..your muse has served you well love the ending of this wonderful write....
just plain bull shit if u ask me
A bit of self criticism here I think by William.......