III. Let dainty wits cry on the Sisters nine

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

LET dainty wits cry on the Sisters nine,

That bravely maskt, their fancies may be told;

Or PINDAR’s apes flaunt they in phrases fine,

Enamelling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold;

Or else let them in statelier glory shine,

Ennobling new-found tropes with problems old;

Or with strange similes enrich each line,

Of herbs or beasts which Inde or Afric hold:

For me, in sooth, no Muse but one I know.

Phrases and problems from my reach do grow,

And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites.

How then? Even thus. In STELLA’s face I read

What love and beauty be. Then all my deed

But copying is, what in her Nature writes.