Classic Poem

Virtue, alas, now let me take some rest.
Thou sett'st a 'bate between my will and wit:
If vain love have my simple soul oppressed,
Leave what thou lik'st not, deal not thou with it.
Thy sceptre use in some old Cato 's breast;
Churches or schools are for thy seat more fit.
I do confess, pardon a fault confessed,
My mouth too tender is for thy hard bit.
But if that needs thou wilt usurping be
The little reason that is left in me,
And still th'effect of thy persuasions prove:
I swear my heart such one shall show to thee,
That shrines in flesh so true a deity,
That, Virtue, thou thyself shalt be in love.