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Sonnet 21

By Michael Drayton

Topics: classic

A witlesse Gallant, a young Wench that woo'd,     (Yet his dull Spirit her not one iot could moue)     Intreated me, as e'r I wish'd his good,     To write him but one Sonnet to his Loue:     When I, as fast as e'r my Penne could trot,     Powr'd out what first from quicke Inuention came;     Nor neuer stood one word thereof to blot,     Much like his Wit, that was to vse the same:     But with my Verses he his Mistres wonne,     Who doted on the Dolt beyond all measure.     But soe, for you to Heau'n for Phraze I runne,     And ransacke all APOLLO'S golden Treasure;         Yet by my Troth, this Foole his Loue obtaines,         And I lose you, for all my Wit and Paines.

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"A witlesse Gallant, a young Wench that woo'd,..."

Exploring the themes of classic, Michael Drayton delivers a powerful performance in "Sonnet 21"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...

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Author:Michael Drayton

"A witlesse Gallant, a young Wench that woo'd,..." by Michael Drayton

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"The Text is taken from Percy's Reliques (1765), vol. i. p. 71, 'given from two MS. copies, transmitted from Scotland.' Herd had a very similar bal"

Michael Drayton

About Michael Drayton

Michael Drayton (1563–1631) was an English poet whose "Poly-Olbion" (1612–1622) is a vast topographical poem describing the landscape and legends of England and Wales. His sonnet "Since there's no help" is among the finest of the Elizabethan era.

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"DORILVS in sorrowes deepe,         Autumne waxing ..."

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