My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts whilst other write good words,
And like unletter’d clerk still cry ‘Amen’
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polish’d form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you praised, I say ”Tis so, ’tis true,’
And to the most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you,
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
Then others for the breath of words respect,
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
This is another of the sonnets which undermines itself simply by existing. To say that ‘I can say nothing’ is itself to say something, and the disingenuous modesty which claims only to think good thoughts while at the same time offering, in poetic form, an offended criticism of others’ poetic efforts of praise, clearly sets a higher value on his own expressions of love than the bare words of the poem admit to. There is therefore an undercurrent of thought which flows in a direction contrary to that of the main stream, for whereas the superficial meaning of the words claims that the work of other poets dedicated to the youth is golden, polished, refined and inspired, the underlying message is that it is empty breath, a hollow mockery of finical tracery and no substance. The only real eloquence, the poet seems to say, is that of the love in my breast, and the repetitive words of this poem, saying ‘Amen Amen!’ to every word of praise that is ever uttered on your behalf, are more eloquent than more than all the words the other able spirits can ever produce.
Sonnet LXXXV
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