Classic Poem

I beheld her, on a Day,
When her looke out-flourisht May:
And her dressing did out-brave
All the Pride the fields then have:
Farre I was from being stupid,
For I ran and call'd on Cupid;
Love if thou wilt ever see
Marke of glorie, come with me;
Where's thy Quiver? bend thy Bow:
Here's a shaft, thou art to slow!
And (withall) I did untie
Every Cloud about his eye;
But, he had not gain'd his sight
Sooner, than he lost his might,
Or his courage; for away
Strait hee ran, and durst not stay,
Letting Bow and Arrow fall,
Nor for any threat, or Call,
Could be brought once back to looke.
I foole-hardie, there up tooke
Both the Arrow he had quit,
And the Bow: with thought to hit
This my object. But she threw
Such a Lightning (as I drew)
At my face, that tooke my sight,
And my motion from me quite;
So that there, I stood a stone,
Mock'd of all: and call'd of one
(Which with griefe and wrath I heard)
Cupids Statue with a Beard,
Or else one that plaid his Ape,
In a Hercules-his shape.