Epigram 31 (Reader me thinkes that now I doe digresse,)

Reader me thinkes that now I doe digresse,
Presuming thus to talke of Maiesty.
Which in things easie could my minde expresse,
And dandle little meanings pretily,
For now I loose my proper veynes delight,
Which things vnproper to my veyne rehearse,
Thus I attempting those things to recyte,
Which come not in my compasse of my verse,
In such a plot, cannot make matter faye.
Where so much matter must be cast away.