Classic Poem

A plain youth, Lady, and a simple lover,
Since of myself a last leave I must take,
To you devoutly of my heart I make
An humble gift, and doing this I proffer
A heart that is intrepid, slow to waver,
Gracious in thought, discreet, good, prompt, awake,
If the great earth should to her centre shake,
Armed in itself, and adamant all over;
Not more secure from envy, chance, desire,
And vulgar hopes and fears that vex the earth,
Than wedded to high valour, wit, and worth,
To the sweet Muses, and the sounding lyre:
Weak only will you find it in that part
Where Love incurably hath fixed his dart.