Classic Poem

Constant to none, but ever false to me,
Traiter still to love through thy faint desires,
Not hope of pittie now nor vaine redresse
Turns my griefs to teares, and renu'd laments.
Too well thy empty vowes, and hollow thoughts
Witnes both thy wrongs, and remorseles hart.
Rue not my sorrow, but blush at my name;
Let thy bloudy cheeks guilty thoughts betray.
My flames did truly burne, thine made a shew,
As fires painted are which no heate retayne,
Or as the glossy Pirop faines to blaze,
But, toucht, cold appeares, and an earthy stone.
True cullours deck thy cheeks, false foiles thy brest,
Frailer then thy light beawty is thy minde.
None canst thou long refuse, nor long affect,
But turn'st feare with hopes, sorrow with delight,
Delaying, and deluding ev'ry way
Those whose eyes are once with thy beawty chain'd.
Thrice happy man that entring first thy love
Can so guide the straight raynes of his desires,
That both he can regard thee, and refraine:
If grac't, firme he stands, if not, easely falls.