Classic Poem

42

Some Men there be, which like my Method well,
And much commend the strangenesse of my Vaine:
Some say, I have a passing pleasing Straine,
Some say, That in my Humor I excell;
Some, who not kindly rellish my Conceit,
They say (As Poets doe) I use to faine,
And in bare words paint out my Passions paine;
Thus sundry Men their sundry Minds repeat:
I passe not, I, how Men affected bee,
Nor who commends, or discommends my Verse;
It pleaseth me, if I my Woes rehearse,
And in my Lines, if she my love may see:
 Onely my comfort still consists in this,
 Writing her prayse, I cannot write amisse.