Astrophel and Stella: 55

Muses, I oft invoked your holie ayde,With choisest flowers my speech to engarland so;That it despis'de in true but naked shew,Might winne some grace in your sweet grace arraid.And oft whole trowpes of saddest words I staid,Striuing abroad a foraging to go;Vntill by your inspiring I might know,How their black banner might be best displaid.But now I meane no more your helpe to trie,Nor other sugring of my speech to prooue,But on her name incessantly to crie:For let me but name her whom I do loue,So sweet sounds straight mine eare and heart do hit,That I well find no eloquence like it.