If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second burden 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 compoused wonder of your frame;
Wether we are mended, or wether better they,
Or wether revolution be the same.
O, sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjets worse have given admiring praise.
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second burden 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 compoused wonder of your frame;
Wether we are mended, or wether better they,
Or wether revolution be the same.
O, sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjets worse have given admiring praise.
W. Shakespeare, Sonnet no. LIX
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