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Son. [xxvii]

[That I so slenderly set foorth my Minde]

That I so slenderly set foorth my Minde,
Writing I wote not what in ragged Rimes,
And charg'd with Brasse into these golden Times
When others towre so high am left behinde:
I craue not Phebvs leaue his sacred Cell
To binde my Browes with fresh Aonian Bayes,
Let them haue that who tuning sweetest Layes
By Tempe sit, or Aganippe Well,
Nor yet to Venus Tree doe I aspire,
Sith Shee for whome I might affect that Praise,
My best Attempts with cruell Words gainsayes,
And I seeke not that Others me admire.
Of weeping Myrrhe the Crowne is which I craue,
With a sad Cypresse to adorne my Graue.