Sonnet 59
If there be nothing new, but that which isHath been before, how are our brains beguil'd,Which labouring for invention bear amissThe second burthen of a former child.
Oh 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 sayTo this composed wonder of your frame;Whether we are mended, or where better they,Or whether revolution be the same.
Oh sure I am the wits of former days,To subjects worse have given admiring praise.