Classic Poem

I cursed thee oft, I pity now thy case,
Blind-hitting boy, since she that thee and me
Rules with a beck, so tyrannizeth thee,
That thou must want or food, or dwelling-place.
For she protests to banish thee her face;
Her face? O Love, a rogue thou then shouldst be,
If Love learn not alone to love and see,
Without desire to feed of further grace.
Alas, poor wag, that now a scholar art
To such a school-mistress, whose lessons new
Thou needs must miss, and so thou needs must smart.
Yet dear, let me this pardon get of you,
So long (though he from book miche to desire)
Till without fuel you can make hot fire.