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Alack what pouerty my Muſe brings forth,
That hauing ſuch a skope to ſhow her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Then when it hath my added praiſe beſide.
Oh blame me not if I no more can write!
Looke in your glaſſe and there appeares a face,
That ouer-goes my blunt inuention quite,
Dulling my lines,and doing me diſgrace.
Were it not ſinfull then ſtriuing to mend,
To mar the ſubiect that before was well,
For to no other paſſe my verſes tend,
Then of your graces and your gifts to tell.
   And more,much more then in my verſe can ſit,
   Your owne glaſſe ſhowes you,when you looke in it.

Zie ook het online-facsimile van de oorspronkelijke uitgave (site helaas niet altijd bereikbaar).