Classic Poem

Fair is thy face, and great thy wit's perfection;
So fair, alas, so hard to be exprest,
That if my tired pen should never rest,
It should not blaze thy worth, but my affection:
Yet let me say, the Muses make election
Of your pure mind, there to erect their nest;
And that your face is such, a flint-hard breast
By force thereof without force feels subjection.
Witness mine ear, ravished when you it hears;
Witness mine eyes, ravished when you they see:
Beauty and virtue, witness eyes and ears,
In you, sweet Saint, have equal sovereignty.
But if nor eyes nor ears can prove it true,
Witness my heart, there's none that equals you;
How they make my poor heart at once to dwell,
In fire and frost, in heaven and in hell!