Classic Poem

To my deere and constant friend Mr Tho. Winter.

Thou warmst me Winter: (O strange paradox!)
With loue thou warm'st mee, which I safely box
In my close heart: but is it hollow? No:
If so it bee tis but to hold thee so.
But were thy nature cold as is thy name,
My heart, with loue, should rather freeze then flame;
But be it as it will, it hath beene seene
Full of Artes flowres, which still make winter greene
For that, and for thy loue as true as steele,
Ile Winter loue, sith, (so) I Summer feele.