Sonnet 78: 
 
Disperse my rudeness.  
See what influences of yours I’ve advanced and doubled. See what more you do! You are all my art. Help my style, my alien use. Teach / learn my rude ignorance. 
 
Only these exceptions: I wasn’t talking to you. I was speaking on high to sing to the fair interest of the corps. Ah, same time, so often have I invoked you as a muse, I’m afraid I can’t keep working with you looking over my shoulder  

only to know the poetry is yours, born of you.