Sonet 11

Sir William Alexander

 Next Poem          

Ah that it was my fortune to be borne,
Now in the time of this degener'd age,
When some, in whom impietie doth rage,
Do all the rest discredit whil'st they scorne.
And this is growne to such a custome now,
That those are thought to haue the brauest spirits,
Who can faine fancies and imagine merits:
As who but for their lusts of loue allow.
And yet in this I had good hap, I find,
That chanc'd to chaine my thoughts to such an one,
Whose iudgement is so cleare, that she anone
Can by the outward gestures iudge the mind.
Yet wit and fortune rarely waite on one,
She knowes the best, yet can make choice of none.

Next Poem 

 Back to Sir William Alexander
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.