Sonnet I: Sadde all alone, not long I musing

Sadde all alone, not long I musing satte,
But that my thoughtes compell'd me to aspire,
A Laurell garland in my hande I gatte:
So the Muses I approch'd the nyer.
My sute was this, a Poet to become,
To drinke with them, and from the heavens be fedde:
Phaebus denyed, and sware there was no roome,
Such to be Poets as fonde fancie ledde:
With that I mourn'd; and sat me downe to weepe,
Venus she smil'd, and smyling to me saide,
Come drinke with me, and sitt thee still and sleepe:
This voyce I heard: and Venus I obayde.
That poyson (sweete), hath done me all this wrong,
For nowe of love, must needes be all my song.