Sonnet 6

SOme Louers speake, when they their Muses entertaine
Of hopes begott, by feare, of wot not what desires,
Of force of heauenly beames, infusing hellish paine;
Of lyuing deathes deere woundes, faire stormes and flashing fyres.
Some one his songes in Ioue and Ioues straunge tales attyres,
Bordered with Bulles and Swannes, poudered with golden raine:
An other humbler witte to shepheards pipe retyres,
Yet hiding royall blood, full oft in Rurall vaine.
To some a sweetest plaint a sweetest stile assordes,
Whiles teares poure out his inke, and sighes breath out his wordes.
His paper pale despaire, and paine his penne doth moue.
I can speake what I feele, and feele as much as they,
But thinke that all the mappe of my state, I display.
When trembling voice bringes foorth, that I do Stella loue.