Classic Poem

Of manie now that sound with hopes consort
Your wisdome, bountie, and peace blessed raigne
My skill is least but of the most importe
Because not schoold by favors, guifts, or gaine.
And that which more approves my truthfull layes
To sweet my tunes, I straine not flatteries stringe
But hould that temper in your Royall prayse
That long I did, before you were my Kinge.
Soe did I vertue for it self regard
With truth unstaind, that hath the test indurd
Lovinge my kinge without my kings reward
And yet such Zeale, through wrong lives still obscurde
But hope dyes not, dispaire it doth dispyse
For constant faith draws favour from the skyes.