Classic Poem

Blacke Cypresse vailes are shrouds of night,
White linnen railes are railes of light;
Which though we to our girdles weare,
W'have hands to keep your armes off there.
A fitter dresse we have in Lent,
To shew us trewly penitent.
Who makes our bands to be a cloake
Makes John-a-Stiles of John-an-Oke.
We weare our linnen to our feet,
Yet need not make our band a sheet.
Your Clergie wears as long as wee,
Yet that implyes conformitie.
Be wise, recant what you have writ,
Least you do pennance for your wit;
Love-charmes have power to weave a string
Shall tye you as you ty'd your ring;
Thus by loves sharpe but just decree
You may be censur'd, we go free.