poet it is not yet deserved by me i know it grant me i may but on your tend and be their servant or their friend and if desert hereafter worthy make me then for a fellow if it please you take mc george from tht hunting never did the nine impart the sweet secrets of their art unto any that did scorn we should see their worn therefore unto those that say were they pleased to sing a lay they could do t and will not tho this i speak for this i know none e er drunk the spring and knew how but he did sing for that once d in man makes him t do what he can nay those that do only or but e en their fingers dip in that sacred poor of that brood will themselves yea in hope to get them fame they will speak though to their shame let those then at thee that by their wits measure thine needs those songs must be thine own and that one day will be known that poor too i myself do undergo but it will appear ere long that twas envy sought our wrong who at twice ten have sung more than some will do at cheer thee honest then and begin thy song again fain i would but i do fear when again my lines they hear the english poets if they yield they are my they will some other crimes and tis no safe venturing by where we see lie for do what i can i doubt she wiu pick some quarrel out and i oft have heard said is soon see st thou not in days oft thick cloud heaven s rays and that which do breathe from the earth s gross beneath seem not to us with black to the sun s bright beams and yet vanish into air leaving it d fair so my shall it be with s breath on thee it shall never rise so high as to stain thy as that sun doth oft from each rotten so sometime gross from muddy brains mists of envy of spite men s judgments and her light but so much her power may do that she can them if thy verse do bravely tower as she makes wing she gets power yet the higher she doth she s still the more till she to the high st hath past then she rests with fame at last let therefore thee but make forward in thy flight george for if i could match thy rhyme to the very stars climb there begin ag n and fly till i reach d eternity but alas my muse is slow for thy place she flags too low yea the more s her fate her short wings were of late and poor i her fortune am myself put up a but if i my cage can rid fly where i never did and though for her sake i m though my best hopes i have lost and knew she would make my trouble ten times more than ten times double i should love and keep her too spite of all the world could do for though banish d from my flocks and confined within these rocks here i waste away the light and the sullen night she doth for my comfort stay and keeps many cares away though i miss the fields with those sweets the though i may not see those groves where the shepherd s chant their loves and the more than the sweet d though of all those pleasures past nothing now remains at last but remembrance poor relief that more makes than my grief she s my mind s companion still envy s evil will whence she should be driven too were t in mortal s power to do the english poets she doth tell me where to borrow comfort in the midst of sorrow makes the place to her presence be a grace and the to be pleasing ornaments in my former days of bliss her divine skill taught me this that from everything i saw i could some invention draw and raise pleasure to her height through the meanest object s sight by the murmur of a spring or the least boughs by a whose leaves spread shut when goes to bed or a shady bush or tree she could more in me than all nature s beauties can in some other wiser man by her help i also now make this place allow some things that may gladness in the very of sadness the dull the black shade that these hanging have made the strange music of the waves beating on these hollow this black den which rocks overgrown with eldest moss the rude that give light more to terror than delight this my chamber of neglect about with from all these and this dull air a fit object for despair she hath taught me by her might to draw comfort and delight george therefore thou best earthly bliss i will cherish thee for this thou sweet st content that e er heaven to mortals lent though they as a trifle leave thee whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee though thou be to them a scorn that to but earth are bom let my life no longer be than i am in love with thee though our wise ones call thee madness let me never taste of gladness if i love not thy mad st fits more than all their greatest wits and though some too seeming holy do account thy folly thou dost teach me to what makes and fools of them the author s resolution in a shall i wasting in because a woman s fair or make pale my cheeks with care cause are be she fairer than the day or the in may if she not well of me what care i how she 