Classic Poem

Come forth, Laissa, spred thy lockes of gold,
Show thy cheekes' roses in their virgine prime,
And though no gemmes thee decke which Indies hold,
Yeild not vnto the fairest of thy tyme.
No ceruse brought farre farre beyond the seas,
Noe poisone lyke cinabre paints thy face,
Let them have that whose natiue hues displease,
Thow gracest nakednesse, it doth thee grace.
Thy syre no pyick-purse is of other's witt,
Those jewellis be his owne which thee adorne;
And though thow after greatter ones be borne,
Thow mayst be bold euen midst the first to sitt,
For whilst fair Iuliett, or the Farie Queene
Doe liue with theirs, thy beautie shall be seene.