Classic Poem

My bonie Lasse thine eie,
So slie,
Hath made me sorrowe so:
Thy Crimsen cheekes my deere,
So cleere,
Haue so much wrought my woe.

Thy pleasing smiles and grace,
Thy face,
Haue rauisht so my sprights;
That life is growne to nought,
Through thought,
Of Loue which me affrights.

For fancies flames of fire,
Aspire,
Vnto such furious powre:
As but the teares I shead,
Make dead,
The brands would me deuoure.

I should consume to nought,
Through thought,
Of thy faire shining eie:
Thy cheekes, thy pleasing smiles,
The wiles,
That forst my hart to die.

Thy grace, thy face, the part,
Where art,
Stands gazing still to see:
The wondrous gifts and powre,
Each howre,
That hath bewitched me.