Poem by Michael Drayton

Sonnet 9. As Other Men

As other men, so I myself do muse
Why in this sort I wrest invention so,
And why these giddy metaphors I use,
Leaving the path the greater part do go.
I will resolve you: I am lunatic,
And ever this in madmen you shall find,
What they last thought of when the brain grew sick
In most distraction they keep that in mind.
Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit,
Reason and I, you must conceive, are twain;
"Tis nine years now since first I lost my wit;
Bear with me then, though troubled be my brain.
    With diet and correction men distraught 
    (Not too far past) may to their wits be brought.

1. Sonnet 55. My Fair
2. Sonnet 57. You Best Discern'd of my Mind's Inward Eyes
3. Sonnet 38. Sitting Alone, Love
4. Sonnet 48. Cupid, I Hate thee
5. Sonnet 46. Plain-path'd Experience

Print

1683 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version