I

‡ 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 ‡ sun-burn’d brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting ‡ Invention’s stay‡ ,
Invention, Nature’s child, fled step-dame ‡ Study’s blows,
And ‡ others’ feet still ‡ seem’d 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.”