Sir Philip Sidney












Loving in truth, and faine in verse my love to show,

   That she (deare she) might take some pleasure of my paine:

   Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know,

   Knowledge might pitie winne, and pitie grace obtaine,

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,

   Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertaine:

   Oft turning others leaves, to see if thence would flow

   Some fresh and fruitfull showers upon my sunne-burn'd braine.


But words came halting forth, wanting Inventions stay,

   Invention Natures child fled step-dame Studies blowes,

   And others feete still seem'd but strangers in my way.

Thus great with child to speake, and helplesse in my throwes

   Biting my trewand pen, beating my selfe for spite,

   Foole, said my Muse to me, looke in thy heart and write.