Ye subiects of her partiall painted praise,
Pen, paper, inke, you feeble instruments:
Vnto a higher straine I now must raise
Your mistris beautious faire abiliments.
Thou author of our hie Meonian verse,
That checks the proud Castalians eloquence:
With humble spirit if I now reherse
Her seuerall graces natures excellence:
Smile on these rough-hewd lines, these ragged words
That neuer stil'd from the Castalian spring:
Nor that one true Apologie affoords,
Nor neuer learn'd with pleasant tune to sing:
So shall they liue, and liuing still perseuer
To deifie her sacred name for euer.