Henry Ellison - The Sonnet lyrics

In this strait-waistcoat of poor fourteen lines Our Shakspear cramped his mighty intellect. 'Tis as if Ocean should confines elect, Like tributary streams; Golconda's mines Contract their splendours to one gem that shines With fraction'd lustre; or great kings reject Th'imperious sceptre, and instead select The pastoral crook. But genius all refines. He in that circumscription still could move A chartered libertine, and spirits raise, By his "so potent art" all rules above, In that small charmed circle; to the rays Of his fine wit it did a focus prove -- A wheel, whose rondure close confine doth brace.