A witless gallant a young wench that woo'd <br />(Yet his dull spirit her not one jot could move), <br />Entreated me, as e'er I wish'd his good, <br />To write him but one sonnet to his love; <br />When I, as fast as e'er my pen could trot, <br />Pour'd out what first from quick invention came, <br />Nor never stood one word thereof to blot, <br />Much like his wit that was to use the same; <br />But with my verses he his mistress won, <br />Which doted on the dolt beyond all measure. <br />But see, for you to Heav'n for phrase I run, <br />And ransack all Apollo's golden treasure; <br />Yet by my froth this fool his love obtains, <br />And I lose you for all my love and pains.<br /><br />Michael Drayton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxi-a-witless-galant/
