Classic Poem

Wer't granted me to choose,
How I would end my dayes;
Since I this Life must loose,
It should be in Your praise;
For there is no Bayes
Can be set above you.

S'impossibly I love You
And for You sit so hie,
Whence none may remove You
In my cleere Poesie,
That I oft deny
You so ample Merit.

The freedome of my Spirit
Maintayning (still) my Cause,
Your Sex not to inherit,
Urging the Salique Lawes;
But your Vertue drawes
From Me every due.

Thus still You me pursue,
That no where I can dwell,
By Feare made just to You,
Who Naturally rebell,
Of You that excell
That should I still Endyte,

Yet will You want some Ryte.
That lost in Your high praise
I wander to and fro,
As seeing sundry Waies:
Yet which the right not know
To get out of this Maze.