Sonnet 59
If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss The second burthen of a former child! O, that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done. That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame; Whe'er we are mended, or whe'er better they, Or whether revolution be the same. O sure I am the wits of former days To subjects worse have given admiring praise. |