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Sonnets: Idea XLIII

By Michael Drayton

Topics: classic

Why should your fair eyes with such sov'reign grace     Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit,     Whilst I in darkness in the self-same place,     Get not one glance to recompense my merit?         So doth the plowman gaze the wand'ring star,     And only rest contented with the light,     That never learned what constellations are,     Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight.         O why should beauty, custom to obey,     To their gross sense apply herself so ill!     Would God I were as ignorant as they,     When I am made unhappy by my skill,         Only compelled on this poor good to boast!         Heavens are not kind to them that know them most.

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"Why should your fair eyes with such sov'reign grace..."

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Author:Michael Drayton

"Why should your fair eyes with such sov'reign grac..." 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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