Classic Poem

Bicause I have the still kept fro lyes and blame
And to my power alwaies have I honoured,
Unkynd tong right ill hast thou me rendred
For suche deserft to do me wrek and shame.
In nede of succour moost when that I ame
To aske reward, then standest thou like oon aferd
Alway moost cold, and if thou speke towerd,
It is as in dreme unperfaict and lame.
And ye salt teres again my will eche nyght
That are with me when fayn I would be alone,
Then are ye gone when I should make my mone;
And you so reddy sighes to make me shright,
Then are ye slake when that ye should owtestert,
And onely my loke declareth my hert.