Classic Poem

If there was nothing noble
In what seemed troubled beauty, I may wear down
My heels for song and craze myself again
With thinking of her ways and how I found
In every fault of her inconstant body
The sin her stripling has enjoyed.
It is,
Without lie, a common shame and will soon end
For I gave sleep for her and yet this boy
Can say to any man he had his fill
Of sleep who tasted her.