Classic Poem

Though I with strange desire
To kisse those rosie lips am set on fire,
Yet will I cease to craue
Sweet touches in such store,
As hee who long before
From Lesbia them in thousands did receaue.
Heart mine, but once mee kisse,
And I by that sweet blisse
Euen sweare to cease you to importune more:
Poore one no number is;
Another word of mee yee shall not heare
After one kisse, but still one kisse, my deare.