Classic Poem

My faire, had I not erst adornd my Lute,
With those sweet strings stolne from thy golden hayre,
Unto the world had all my joyes been mute,
Nor had I learn'd to descant on my faire.

Had not mine eye seene thy Celestiall eye,
Nor my hart knowne the power of thy name,
My soule had ne'r felt thy Divinitie,
Nor my Muse been the trumpet of thy fame.

But thy divine perfections by their skill,
This miracle on my poore Muse have tried:
And by inspiring, glorifide my quill,
And in my verse thy selfe art deified.
Thus from thy selfe the cause is thus derived,
That by thy fame all fame shall be survived.