Poem by Michael Drayton

Sonnet 6. How Many Paltry Foolish Painted Things

How many paltry foolish painted things,
That now in coaches trouble every street,
Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings,
Ere they be well wrapped in their winding-sheet!
Where I to thee eternity shall give,
When nothing else remaineth of these days,
And queens hereafter shall be glad to live
Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise.
Virgins and matrons, reading these my rhymes,
Shall be so much delighted with thy story
That they shall grieve they lived not in these times,
To have seen thee, their sex's only glory:
So shalt thou fly above the vulgar throng,
Still to survive in my immortal song. 

1. Sonnet 47. In Pride of Wit
2. Sonnet 31. Methinks I See Some Crooked Mimic Jeer
3. Sonnet 27. Is not Love
4. Sonnet 45. Muses, which Sadly Sit about My Chair
5. Sonnet 48. Cupid, I Hate thee

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