Classic Poem

Neuer thinke vpon anoye,
Where the harte hath suche a Joye

But head leave akinge,
Harte is in better takinge;
Eies leave your weepinge,
Loue hath sweete thoughtes in kepinge;
Harte howlde thine owne yitt
Loue is not ouerthrowne yitt
And the heavnes them selues haue sworne
Loue shall neuer be forlorne.

See howe she chaunceth,
That all true loue advaunceth;
Sweete be that smile yitt,
That bydes me liue a-while yitt;
Euer be lyvinge
Those eyes suche comfort givinge;
That when loue was almost slaine
Made him whole at harte againe.

Oh heavnelie feature,
Was neuer suche a creature
Riche in best treasure;
Beawties pride, honors pleasure
Faire with suche graces
As putteth downe all faces:
Oh she is the heavnelie[st] Quene
That the worlde hathe euer seene.

Quene of suche powre
As sweeteth euery sowre;
Heavnelie perfeccon,
All perfect loves dyrection;
Loue of that offence
That showes the only presence
Of those blessed angells eyes,
Where loue lives and neuer dyes.