Sonnet XLII: Some Men There Be
Some men there be which like my method wellAnd much commend the strangeness of my vein;Some say I have a passing pleasing strain;Some say that im my humor I excel;Some, who not kindly relish my conceit,They say, as poets do, I use to feign,And in bare words paint out my passion's pain.Thus sundry men their sundry words repeat;I pass not, I, how men affected be,Nor who commends or discommends my verse;It pleaseth me, if I my woes rehearse,And in my lines if she my love may see.Only my comfort still consists in this,Writing her praise I cannot write amiss.
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