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So is | it not | with me | as with | that Muse,
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Stirred by | a paint|ed beaut|y to | his verse,
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Who heaven | itself | for orn|ament | doth use
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And eve|ry fair | with his | fair* doth |
rehearse,
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Making | a coup|lement | of proud | compare
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With sun | and moon,| with earth | and sea's rich
gems:
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With Ap|ril's^first-|born* flowers,| and all
things rare,
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That heav|en's air | in this / huge rond|ure
hems.
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O let | me true | in love | but tru|ly write,
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And then | believe | me, my | love^is | as fair
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As an|y moth|er's child,| though not | so bright
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As those gold cand|les fixed | in heav|en's
air:
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Let* them | say more | that like | of hear|say*
well;
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I will | not praise | that pur|pose not | to
sell.