Classic Poem

Truthe shewes her selfe is secrett of her truste

Wisdome her grace in hono r of her love;
Vertue her life, wher loue is not vniust,
Loue in his sweetes that dothe no sorrow p've.

Truth hath in hate to heere a fained tale,
Wisdome doth frowne, when ffollie is in place;
Honor is gon, where beawtie is to sale,
And vertue dies where loue is in disgrace.

I leave yo r truthe to yo r desired truste,
Yo r wisdome to the wounder of the wise;
Yo r highest ioye to iudgment of the iust.
Wher vertue lives, and honor neuer dyes;
And hee vouchsafes yow that all truth p'serueth
What truth of loue and loue of truthe deserueth.