Classic Poem

If Troyians stoute that fought in Hellens band,
Small wayd their lives their lady to preserve,
What doubt, what death, what hell should mee withstand,
To worke C. will the captaine that I serve,
Who doth in deede as farre fayre Hellen passe,
As good doth bad, or gold the corsest brasse.

For first she hath in feature, forme and face,
What Hellen had, or beautie could devise;
And therewithall she hath so chast a grace,
To hold them backe with fancies fonde that fries,
That (loe!) they choose to pine in secrete paine,
Before their sutes should move her to disdaine.

She showes them grace that sorrowes their amis,
Beyonde desert her bountie doth reward,
Her modest minde by vertue guided is,
Her sober lookes doth worke a rare regard:
Although in court her roume is hie, shee knowes,
Yet likes shee not to feede on curious showes.

A care shee hath (which showes a loving wife)
To love and like but what contents her fere;
With these good giftes commended is her life:
Such one is C. whom I have praised here.
Even shee is shee, denie it who that dare,
That doth both kinds, and vertues jewels ware.