Classic Poem

Dildido, dildido,
O love, O love,
I feel thy rage rumble below and above!

In summer time I saw a face,
 Trop belle pour moi, hélas, hélas!
Like to a ston'd-horse was her pace:
 Was ever young man so dismay'd?
Her eyes, like wax-torches, did make me afraid:
 Trop belle pour moi, voilà mon trépas.
Thy beauty, my love, exceedeth supposes;
Thy hair is a nettle for the nicest roses.
Mon dieu, aide moi!
That I with the primrose of my fresh wit
May tumble her tyranny under my feet:
Hé donc je serai un jeune roi!
Trop belle pour moi, hélas, hélas!
Trop belle pour moi voilà mon trépas!