Loving in truth,and fain in verse my love to show,
That she (dear She)might take some pleasure of my pain:
Pleasure might pity win,and pity grace obtain;
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying in ventions fine,her wits to entertain:
Oft turning others'leaves,to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burned brain.
But words came halting forth,wanting In vention's stay,
In vention,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 throse,
Biting my truant pen,beating myself for spite--
"Fool,"said my Muse to me,"look in thy heart and write.