Sonnet 21

So is it not with me as with that MuseStirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,Who heaven itself for ornament doth useAnd every fair with his fair doth rehearse, 4Making a couplement of proud compare,With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,With April's first-born flowers, and all things rareThat heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. 8O let me, true in love, but truly write,And then believe me, my love is as fairAs any mother's child, though not so brightAs those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air: 12Let them say more that like of hear-say well;I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

1 Muse: poet4 rehearse: relate5 Making . . . compare: joining in proud comparison8 rondure: circle