Sonnet 80

O, how I faint when I of you do write,

Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,

And in the praise thereof spends all his might

To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame.

But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,

The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,

My saucy bark, inferior far to his,

On your broad main doth wilfully appear.

Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,

Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;

Or, being wreck’d, I am a worthless boat,

He of tall building, and of goodly pride:

Then if he thrive and I be cast away,

The worst was this: my love was my decay.

I grow a little weak when I write

About you, for I know another spirit

(Better in form than mine) is night

And day paying you better tribute.

But since your heart is as large as the ocean,

There’s space enough for the humblest sail,

And my poor raft, without much motion,

Thinks it might prevail.

Your shallowest waters will keep me afloat,

Though he holds all the deep.

Or if I’m wrecked, a drifting boat,

While his is still a titanic ship,

And he thrives while I’m castaway,

The worst that could be is: love left me this way.