A Witless Gallant, A Young Wench That Woo'd

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Title:     A Witless Gallant, A Young Wench That Woo'd
Author: Michael Drayton [More Titles by Drayton]

A witless Gallant, a young Wench that woo'd,
(Yet his dull spirit her not one iot could move)
Intreated me, as e'r I wish'd his good,
To write him but one sonnet to his Love:
When I, as fast as e'r my Penne could trot,
Powr'd out what first from quick invention came;
Nor never stood one word thereof to blot,
Much like his wit, that was to use the same:
But with my verses he his mistress won,
Who doted on the dolt beyond all measure.
But see, for you to Heav'n for phraze I run,
And ransack all APOLLO'S golden Treasure;
Yet by my Troth, this fool his Love obtains,
And I lose you, for all my wit and pains.

[The end]
Michael Drayton's poem: Witless Gallant, A Young Wench That Woo'd

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