My Muse May Well Grudge At My Heau'Nly Ioy, Yf Still I Force Her In Sad Rimes To Creepe: She Oft Hath Drunk My Teares, Now Hopes To Enioy Nectar Of Mirth, Since I Ioues Cup Do Keepe. Sonets Be Not Bound Prentice To Annoy; Trebles Sing High, So Well As Bases Deepe; Griefe But Loues Winter-Liuerie Is; The Boy Hath Cheekes To Smile, So Well As Eyes To Weepe. Come Then, My Muse, Shew Thou Height Of Delight In Well-Raisde Notes; My Pen, The Best It May, Shall Paint Out Ioy, Though In But Blacke And White. Cease, Eager Muse; Peace, Pen, For My Sake Stay, I Giue You Here My Hand For Truth Of This, Wise Silence Is Best Musicke Vnto Blisse.