Classic Poem

Love as a Prynce to shew his power and myght
Gave hope off me the rule and upper hande
And yet dispayre with his blacke troope in spight
Encounters styll with hope and his green band
But love hymselfe as honor off the forte
Which is my harte hath placed hope as chiefe
And yett dispayre encamps in warlyke sorte
About the place and ke[e]ps from thence relyefe
Rygor the Cannon daylye thereon beats
And foule disdayne doth lead them to the walls
Cruell refuse for parlye none entreats
But summons all to yeld them selffs as thralls
Nowe love make haste and use noe more delayes
But off my soveraigne crave thow this supplye
Good words, kinde lookes, sweet smyles, this seige to raise
Which beinge hadd shall force dyspayre to flye
And saye withall yff Shee thereatt repine
The place is hers as much as it is thyne