Classic Poem

Feare not, my faire, that euer any chaunce
So shake the resolutions of my mind,
That like Demophon, changing with the wind,
I thy fame's rent not labour to enhaunce:
The ring which thou in signe of fauour gaue,
Shall from fine gold transforme it selfe in glasse:
The diamond which then so solid was,
Soft like the waxe, each image shall receiue:
First shall each riuer turne vnto the spring,
The tallest oke stand trembling like a reed,
Harts in the aire, whales on the mountaines feed,
And foule confusions seaze on euery thing;
Before that I begin to change in ought,
Or on another but bestow one thought.