FROM

I d e a.

by Michael Drayton


XXXI.

To the Critic

METHINKS I see some crooked mimic jeer,
And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace,
Turning my papers asks, What have we here ?
Making withal some filthy antic face.
I fear no censure, nor what thou canst say,
Nor shall my spirit one jot of vigour lose ;
Think'st thou my wit shall keep the pack-horse way
That every dudgen low invention goes ?
Since sonnets thus in bundles are imprest
And every drudge doth dull our satiate ear,
Think'st thou my love shall in those rags be drest,
That every dowdy, every trull, doth wear ?
    Up to my pitch no common judgement flies ;
    I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies.





Source:
Drayton, Michael. Idea.
Daniel's Delia and Drayton's Idea. Arundell Esdaile, Ed.
London: Chatto and Windus, 1908. 98.



Back to Works of Michael Drayton



Site copyright ©1996-2007 Anniina Jokinen. All Rights Reserved.
Created by Anniina Jokinen on October 20, 2000. Last updated on January 30, 2007.