Poems: by Michaell Draiton Esquire

To the Reader of his Poems. Sonet. 1. (Book 1)

INto these loues who but for passion lookes, At this first sight, heere let them lay them by, And seeke else-where in turning other bookes, Which better may his labour satisfie, No far-fetch'd sigh shall euer wound my breast, Loue from mine eye, a teare shall neuer w••ing, Nor in ah-mees my whining Sonnets drest, (A Libertine) fantastickly I sing; My verse is the true image of my mind, Euer in motion, still desiring change, The choise of all varietie inclin'd, And in all humors sportiuely I range, My actiue Muse is of the worlds right straine, That cannot long one fashion entertaine.