Classic Poem

My fancie once in fayre carnation stoode,
And, trueth to say, I lived in delight,
But loe! (such is the fruites of wanton moode)
Both dye and dayes are chaunged with despight.
In tawnie now I forced am to goe,
(Forsaken wretch!) my mystresse scorne to shoe.

And would to God, who notes my wretched weedes,
Would wisely shunne the baites that beautie lay:
Her sweete receites an ill digeflion breedes.
Once bound ynough, her thralles must needes obey:
Yea, worse then that (though love seeme nere so hott)
When all is done, forsaken is their lott.

This is the badge that Cressids heyres do give;
They lure with grace, and loose with deadly hate:
Beware of them, you that in freedome live,
If not, behold a patterne of your fate:
Even I my selfe do weare this tawnie hue,
To shewe I serv'd a Cressid most untrue.