Sonnet 79
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
poetry
rivalry
grace
beauty
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd
And my sick Muse doth give another place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen,
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue and he stole that word
From thy behavior; beauty doth he give
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.
What It Means
While Shakespeare had the young man to himself as a Muse, his poetry thrived. Now that another poet has moved in, the young man's grace — not Shakespeare's skill — is doing the work. The rival poet is simply borrowing the beauty and describing it back. Shakespeare's art alone produced praise; the rival's relies entirely on what the young man already is.
Context
Part of the Rival Poet group (78–86). The accusation against the rival is that he lacks genuine creative contribution — he just describes what's already there.
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