Elegy 5

Petrarch, for the neat Sonnets he did frame
In Laura's praise, obtain'd a Poets Name:
I of my Mistress write in verse, and show it,
And yet I do profess I am no Poet.
They feign, but I speak truth; what they invent
(Out of long study) for a Complement,
In me is earnest; Those rich words that they
Enforce upon some beauties, I can lay
With reverence on you whom I adore,
And Times to come may as a Saint implore;
Then unto all may you propitious be,
I wish to heaven you now were so to me.
Believe, because these are unsmooth, my wit
Dul'd with amazement, and my hand unfit
To hold a pen so steddy as to write,
Lest some Offence should frustrate my delight.
Your Beauty is my wonder: That you should
Prove merciless, my fear: but my most bold,
And happiest earthly wish is, That you may
With kindness save whom else your beauties slay.