Classic Poem

The turret of my hope, which neuer falles,
Did at the first all Cupid's power despise:
But it t' orethrow while as thou arm'd thine eyes;
Thy lookes were canons, thy disdaines their balles:
I brau'd thy beauties in a gallant sort,
And did resist all thy assaults a time:
But ah, I find in end, (my wrack thy crime)
That treason enters in the strongest fort.
Thou, seeing thou wast like to lose the field,
Vnto my thoughts some fauour didst impart,
Which like brib'd orators inform'd the hart,
The victor would proue kind, if I could yeeld:
And o, what can this grace thy beautie's straines?
'T is no true victorie that treason gaines.