"Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside,
To new found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still alone, ever the same
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost fell my name
Shewing their birth and where they did proceed?
0, know, sweet love, I always write of you
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new
Spending again what is already spent;
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told."
I believe there has never been a man like him and never a poet like him!