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A new kinde of a Sonnet.
In writing long, and reading works of warre,That Homer wrote and Virgils verse did show:
My muse me led in ouerweening farre,
When to their Stiles my pen presumde to goe.
Ouid himselfe durst not haue vaunted so,
Nor Petrarke graue with Homer would compare:
Dawnt durst not think his sence so hye did flow,
As Uirgils works that yet much honord are.
Thus each man sawe his iudgement hye or low,
And would not striue or seeke to make a iarre:
Or wrastle where they haue an ouerthrow.
So I that finde the weakenes of my bow,
Will shoot no shaft beyond my length I troe:
For reason learnes and wisdome makes me know.
Whose strength is best and who doth make or marre:
A little Lamp may not compare with Starre.
A feeble head where no great gifts doo grow:
Yeelds vnto skill, whose knowledge makes smal shew.
Then gentle world I sweetly thee beseech:
Call Spenser now the spirit of learned speech.
Churchyards good will.
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