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.