Sonnet VI: Some Lovers Speak

 Some lovers speak when they their Muses entertain, 
Of hopes begot by fear, of wot not what desires: 
Of force of heav'nly beams, infusing hellish pain: 
Of living deaths, dear wounds, fair storms, and freezing fires.
 

Some one his song in Jove, and Jove's strange tales attires, 
Broidered with bulls and swans, powdered with golden rain; 
Another humbler wit to shepherd's pipe retires, 
Yet hiding royal blood full oft in rural vein.
 

To some a sweetest plaint a sweetest style affords, 
While tears pour out his ink, and sighs breathe out his words: 
His paper pale despair, and pain his pen doth move.
 

I can speak what I feel, and feel as much as they, 
But think that all the map of my state I display, 
When trembling voice brings forth that I do Stella love.

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