| | | Who says that fictions only and false hair |
| | | Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty? |
| | | Is all good structure in a winding stair? |
| | | May no lines pass, except they do their duty |
| 5 | | Not to a true, but painted chair? |
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| | | Is it no verse, except enchanted groves |
| | | And sudden arbours shadow coarse-spun lines? |
| | | Must purling streams refresh a lover’s loves? |
| | | Must all be veiled, while he that reads, divines, |
| 10 | | Catching the sense at two removes? |
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| | | Shepherds are honest people; let them sing; |
| | | Riddle who list, for me, and pull for prime; |
| | | I envy no man’s nightingale or spring; |
| | | Nor let them punish me with loss of rhyme, |
| 15 | | Who plainly say, My God, My King. |
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Contributed by Robert Clark.
