Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 3

Let dainty wits cry on the sisters nine,
That, bravely masked, their fancies may be told;
Or Pindar's apes flaunt they in phrases fine,
Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold;  
     Or else let them in statelier glory shine,
Ennobling new-found tropes with problems old;
Or with strange similes enrich each line,
Of herbs or beasts, which Ind or Afric hold.
     For me, in sooth, no Muse but one I know;
     Phrases and problems from my reach do grow,
And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites.
     How then?  even thus: in Stella's face I read
     What love and beauty be; then all my deed
But copying is, what in her Nature writes.