Classic Poem

Since just disdain began to rise,
And cry revenge for spiteful wrong;
What erst I praised, I now despise;
And think my love was all too long.
I tread in dirt that scornful pride,
Which in thy looks I have descried;
Thy beauty is a painted skin,
For fools to see their faces in.

Thine eyes, that some as stars esteem,
From whence themselves, they say, take light,
Like to the foolish fire I deem,
That leads men to their death by night.
Thy words and oaths are light as wind;
And yet far lighter is thy mind:
Thy friendship is a broken reed,
That fails thy friends in greatest need.
VITIIS PATIENTIA VICTA EST.