Classic Poem

I'le giue thee leaue, my loue, in beauties field
To reare red colours whiles, and bend thine eyes;
Those that are bashfull still, I quite despise,
Such simple soules are too soone mou'd to yeeld:
Let maiestie arm'd in thy count'nance sit,
As that which will no iniurie receiue;
And I'le not hate thee, whiles although thou haue
A sparke of pride, so it be rul'd by wit.
This is to chastitie a powerfull guard,
Whilst haughtie thoughts all seruile things eschue,
That sparke hath power the passions to subdue,
And would of glorie chalenge a reward:
But do not fall in loue with thine owne selfe;
Narcissus earst was lost on such a shelfe.