Classic Poem

As I lay sleeping,
In dremes fleeting,
Ever my sweeting
Is in my mind:
She is so goodly,
With locks so lovely,
Like to her surely
Such none can find.

Her beauty so pure,
It doth under lure
My poor heart full sure
In governaunce:
Therefore will I
Unto her apply
And ever will cry
For remembraunce.

Alas, will not she
Now shew her pitye,
But thus will take me
In such disdain.
Methinketh, iwis,
Unkind she is
That bindeth me thus
In such hard pain.

Though she me bind,
Yet shall she not find
My poor heart unkind,
Do what she can:
For I will her pray,
Whiles I leve a day,
Me to take for aye
For her owne man.