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 37. Dear, why should You Command Me to My Rest
2. Sonnet 18. To this our World
3. Sonnet 57. You Best Discern'd of my Mind's Inward Eyes
4. Sonnet 48. Cupid, I Hate thee
5. Sonnet 14. If He From Heav'n

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