SONNET 21	PARAPHRASE
So is it not with me as with that Muse	I am not one of those silly love poets
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,	who are inspired by their insipid writing,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use	who make use of heaven for overblown metaphors
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse	and go through the motions of repeating what has been written before
Making a couplement of proud compare,	writing pompously and full of hackneyed phrases
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,	using the sun, moon, earth and the sea
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare	and April flowers, and all kind of exotic things
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.	that lie under the sun.
O let me, true in love, but truly write,	Let me be true to love by writing honestly,
And then believe me, my love is as fair	and then believe me my love is as true
As any mother's child, though not so bright	as a mother to a child, but not of course as bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air.	as the stars in the sky.
Let them say more that like of hearsay well,	Let other bad poets claim more than what they actually write,
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.	I will never 'sell out.'