On the Sonnet

If by dull rhymes our English must be chained,
    And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet
Fettered, in spite of pained loveliness,
    Let us find, if we must be constrained,
Sandals more interwoven and complete
    To fit the naked foot of Poesy:
Let us inspect the Lyre, and weigh the stress
    Of every chord, and see what may be gained
By ear industrious, and attention meet;
    Misers of sound and syllable, no less
    Than Midas of his coinage, let us be
Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown;
    So, if we may not let the Muse be free,
She will be bound with garlands of her own.