Sonnet 31. Methinks, I see some crooked Mimic jeer

Michael Drayton (1563–1631)

[First printed in 1599 (No. 31), and in all later editions.]

To the Critics

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 packhorse 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!