Let Daintie wittes

Let Daintie wittes cry on the Sisters nine,

That bravely maskt, their fancies may be tolde:

Or Pinders Apes flaunt they in phrases fine,

Enamling with pyde flowers their thoughts of gold:

Or els let them in statelyee glorie shine,

Ennobling new found tropes with problemes old:

Or with strange similes, inricht each line,

Of hearbes or beasts, which _Inde_ or _Affricke_ hold.

For me in sooth, no Muse but one I know,

Phrases and Problemes from my reach do growe.

And straunge things cost too deere for my poor sprites,

How then? even thus in _Stellas_ face I reede,

What love and beautie be, then all my deede

But coppying is, what in her nature writes.