Thou Leaden Braine, Which Censur'st What I Write

________________________________________________
Title:     Thou Leaden Braine, Which Censur'st What I Write
Author: Michael Drayton [More Titles by Drayton]

Thou leaden braine, which censur'st what I write,
And say'st my lines be dull and doe not move,
I meruaile not thou feelst not my delight,
Which never felt my fiery tuch of love.
But thou whose pen hath like a Pack-horse serv'd,
Whose stomack vnto gaule hath turn'd thy foode,
Whose senses like poore prisoners hunger-staru'd,
Whose griefe hath parch'd thy body, dry'd thy blood.
Thou which hast scorned life, and hated death,
And in a moment mad, sober, glad, and sorry,
Thou which hast band thy thoughts and curst thy breath,
With thousand plagues more then in purgatory.
Thou thus whose spirit Love in his fire refines,
Come thou and reade, admire, applaud my lines.

[The end]
Michael Drayton's poem: Thou Leaden Braine, Which Censur'st What I Write [sonet 45]

________________________________________________



GO TO TOP OF SCREEN