ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: III
 Let dainty wits cry on the sisters nine,
 That, bravely mask'd, their fancies may be told;
 Or, Pindar's apes, flaunt they in phrases fine,
 Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold.
 Or else let them in statelier glory shine,
 Ennobling newfound tropes with problems old;
 Or with strange similes enrich each line,
 Of herbs or beasts which Ind or Afric hold.
 For me, in sooth, no Muse but one I know;
 Phrases and problems from my reach do grow,
 And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites.
 How then? even thus: in Stella's face I read
 What love and beauty be; then all my deed
 But copying is, what in her Nature writes.