But from it fly!
Beaumont and Fletcher.
XXV
SONNET.
You that do search for every purling spring,
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your posy wring;
You that do dictionaries’ method bring 5
Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows;
You that poor Petrarch’s long deceasèd woes