Sonnet 6 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.