SONNET I.
SAd, all alone, not long I musing sat But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire. A laurel garland in my hand I gat, So the Muses I approached the nigher. My suit was this, A Poet to become; To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed. Phœbus denied; and sware, "There was no room Such to be Poets as fond Fancy led." With that I mourned, and sat me down to weep. Venus she smiled, and smiling to me said, "Come drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep!" This voice I heard, and Venus I obeyed. That poison, Sweet, hath done me all this wrong; For now of Love must needs be all my Song.
SONNET II.
WEary was Love, and sought to take his rest. He made his choice upon a Virgin's lap; And slyly crept from thence into her breast, Where still he meant to sport him in his hap. The Virgin frowned, like Phœbus in a cloud, "Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such! My breast, no wanton foolish boys must shroud!" This said, my Love did give the Wag a touch. Then as the foot, that treads the stinging snake, Hastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue: So Love, my Love was forced for to forsake; And, for more speed, without his arrows flew. "Pardon!" he said, "for why you seemed to me, My mother Venus in her pride to be."