Classic Poem

Love growne proud with victory,
Seekes by sleights to conquer me,
Painted showes he thinks can bind
His commands in womens mind.
Love but glories in fond loving,
I most joy in not removing.

Love a word, a looke, a smile,
In these shapes can some beguile,
But he some new way must move
To make me a vassell prove.
Love but &

Love must all his shadowes leave
Or himselfe he will deceive,
Who loves not the perfect skie,
More then clouds that wanton flie.
Love but &

Love, yet thus thou maist me win,
If thy staidnesse would begin
Then like friends w' would kindly meete
When thou proov'st as true as sweete
Love then glory in thy loving
And Ile joy in my removing.