LXXIV.
I never drank of Aganippe's well;
Nor never did in shade of Tempe sit:
And Muses scorn with vulgar brains to dwell.
Poor layman, I! for sacred rites unfit.
Some do, I hear, of poets' fury tell;
But (GOD wot) wot not what they mean by it:
And this I swear by blackest brook of hell;
I am no pick-purse of another's wit.
How falls it then, that with so smooth an ease
My thoughts I speak? and what I speak doth flow
In verse? and that my verse best wits doth please?
Guess we the cause. What is it thus? Fie, no!
Or so? Much less! How then? Sure thus it is.
My lips are sweet, inspired with STELLA's kiss.
LXXV.
Of all the Kings that ever here did reign;
EDWARD named FOURTH; as first in praise I name.
Not for his fair outside, nor well-lined brain;
Although less gifts imp feathers oft on Fame.
Nor that he could young-wise wise-valiant, frame
His sire's revenge, joined with a kingdom's gain:
And gained by MARS; could yet mad MARS so tame,
That balance weighed what sword did late obtain.
Nor that he made the fleur de luce so 'fraid,
Though strongly hedged, of bloody lion's paws;
That witty LOUIS to him a tribute paid.
Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause;
But only for this worthy Knight durst prove
To lose his crown, rather than fail his love.
