Classic Poem

I wot not what transported hath my mind,
That I in armes against a goddesse stand;
Yet though I sue t' one of th' immortall band,
The like before was prosp'rously design'd.
To loue Anchises Venus thought no scorne,
And Thetis earst was with a mortall match'd,
Whom if th' aspiring Peleus had not catch'd,
The great Achilles neuer had bene borne.
Thus flatter I my selfe whilst nought confines
My wandring fancies that strange wayes do trace,
He that embrac'd a cloud in Iunoe's place,
May be a terrour to the like designes:
But fame in end th' aduentrer euer crownes,
Whom either th'issue or th' attempt renownes.