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Loving in
truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That She,
dear She, might take some pleasure of my pain,
-
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her
know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain
-
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of
woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburnt brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows;
And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my
throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for
spite -
"Fool!" said my Muse to me "look in thy
heart, and write!"
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