Classic Poem

Go soule, go sweetest soule for ever blest,
So may my verse please those whom I desire,
As my poore Muse shall ever do her best
As farre as pen can paint and speech aspire,
That thy just prayses may be plaine exprest
To future times. Go soule to heaven or hyer,
And if my verse can graunt to thee this chartir,
Thou shalt be calld of chastitie the Martir.

At this her deed so straunge and admirable
He that above all heav'ns doth ay remaine
Lookt down and said it was more comendable