Songes and Sonettes | ||
A praise of Petrarke and of Laura his ladie.
O Petrarke hed and prince of poets all,Whose liuely gift of flowyng eloquence,
Wel may we seke, but finde not how or whence
So rare a gift with thee did rise and fall,
Peace to thy bones, and glory immortall
Be to thy name, and to her excellence.
Whose beauty lighted in thy time and sence
So to be set forth as none other shall.
Why hath not our pens rimes so perfit wrought
Ne why our time forth bringeth beauty such
To trye our wittes as golde is by the touche,
But therwas neuer Laura more then one,
And her had petrarke for his paragone.
Songes and Sonettes | ||