''If My Muse Leaves Me, Yet Shall I Love Her''

If my muse leaves me, yet shall I love her still; and pen songs and odes of fairest rhymes, telling of heights uncommon and rarest climes to woo her, for there's none else above her. Nevertheless, woe am I because of her great absence! Whilst the very fewest times my lines mention her more-than-threadbarest crimes of blowing hot and cold with me, whereof her callousness leaves me with not a dry eye to call my own, nor with a heart unbroken: with this distress I feel I cannot lie, or let my disappointment go unspoken. Muse? O Muse! Behold me now and return, lest my zeal for thee will no longer burn.