Sonnet 59


  If there be nothing new, but that which is,
  Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
  Which labouring for invention bear amis
  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,
  Whether we are mended, or whether better they,
  Or whether revolution be the same.
    O sure I am the wits of former days,
    To subjects worse have given admiring praise.


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