Loving in trueth, and fayne my love in verse to show,
That the deere Shee, might take some pleasure of my paine:
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pittie winne, and pittie grace obtaine.
I sought fit wordes to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wittes to entertaine,
Oft turning others leaves, to see if thence would flowe,
Some fresh and fruitfull showre, upon my Sunne-burnt braine.
But wordes came halting out, wanting inventions stay,
Invention Natures childe, fledde Stepdame studies blowes:
And others feete, still seem’de but strangers in my way,
Thus great with Childe to speake, and helplesse in my throwes,
Byting my trewand penne, beating my selfe for spite:
Foole saide my Muse to mee, looke in thy heart and write.