To Lunacie. Sonnet. 9 (Sonnet 9)

AS other men, so I my selfe do muse.
Why in this sorte I wrest inuention so,
And why these giddy metaphors I vse,
Leauing the path the greater part do goe;
I will resolue you; I am lunaticke,
And euer this in mad-men you shall finde,
What they last thoght on when the braine grew sicke,
In most distraction keepe that still in minde.
Thus talking idely in this bedlam fit,
Reason and I (you must conceiue) are twaine,
Tis nine yeeres now, since first I lost my wit,
Beare with me then, though troubled be my braine;
With diet and correction, men distraught,
(Not too farre past) may to their wits be brought.