Sonnet 70: My Muse May Well Grudge

My Muse may well grudge at my heav'nly joy, If still I force her in sad rimes to creep: She oft hath drunk my tears, now hopes t'enjoy Nectar of mirth, since I Jove's cup do keep. Sonnets be not bound prentice to annoy: Trebles sing high, as well as basses deep: Grief but Love's winter livery is, the boy Hath cheeks to smile, as well as eyes to weep. Come then, my Muse, show thou height of delight In well-rais'd notes, my pen the best it may Shall paint out joy, though but in black and white. Cease, eager Muse; peace, pen, for my sake stay; I give you here my hand for truth of this: Wise silence is best music unto bliss.