Domestic acts, and mine own wars to sing.
Yet tragedies, and sceptres fill'd my lines,
But though I apt were for such high designs,
Love laughèd at my cloak, and buskins painted,
And rule, so soon with private hands acquainted.
My mistress' deity also drew me fro it,
And love triumpheth o'er his buskined poet.
What lawful is, or we profess love's art:
(Alas, my precepts turn myself to smart!)20
We write, or what Penelope sends Ulysses,