Classic Poem

Now Phaebus whept-his horse with al his might,
Thinking to take Aurora in her flight;
But shee, who heares the trampling of his steeds,
Gins suiftlie gallop thruch heauen's rosie meeds.
The more he runs, the more he cums her neere;
The lesse her speed, sche finds the more her feare.
At last his coursiers, angry to be torne,
Her tooke; sche with a blush died al the morne.
Thetis, agast to spie her greens made red,
All drousie rose furth of her corral bed,
Thinking the night's faire queen suld thole sume harmes,
Sche saw poor Tithon's wyff in Phaebus' armes.