Sonnet 1: Loving In Truth
Loving
in
truth,
and
fain
in
verse
my
love
to
show,
That
she
(dear
She)
might
take
some
pleasure
of
my
pain:
Pleasure
might
cause
her
read,
reading
might
make
her
know,
Knowledge
might
pity
win,
and
pity
grace
obtain;
I
sought
fit
words
to
paint
the
blackest
face
of
woe,
Studying
inventions
fine,
her
wits
to
entertain:
Oft
turning
others'
leaves,
to
see
if
thence
would
flow
Some
fresh
and
fruitful
showers
upon
my
sun-burn'd
brain.
But
words
came
halting
forth,
wanting
Invention's
stay,
Invention,
Nature's
child,
fled
step-dame
Study's
blows,
And
others'
feet
still
seem'd
but
strangers
in
my
way.
Thus,
great
with
child
to
speak,
and
helpless
in
my
throes,
Biting
my
truant
pen,
beating
myself
for
spite—
"Fool,"
said
my
Muse
to
me,
"look
in
thy
heart
and
write."