I sing those lines, I once did act in madness!
I sing and weep! (tears follow birth and hearses!)
I sing a Dirge! a Fury did indite it!
I sing Myself! whilst I myself do write it.
I invocate, to grace my Artless labour,
The faithful goddess, men call Memory
(True Poet's treasure, and their Wit's best favour);
To deck my Muse with truest poesy!
Though Love write well, yet Passion blinds th'affection.