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Act I, Scene 38

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  • Shakespeare. How can my Muse want subject to invent,
    While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse 520
    Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
    For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
    O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
    Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
    For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, 525
    When thou thyself dost give invention light?
    Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
    Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
    And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
    Eternal numbers to outlive long date. 530
    If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
    The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

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