Classic Poem

To my tenderly beloued friend Mr Nicholas Deeble.

Hend Nicholas (quoth Chaucer) kinde to me,
Should I with my loose lines vndo thy name?
In thy firme lines the world my fame may see:
And shall I quite thee in an Epigram?
Well, sith it is thy luck to bee my friend.
Thy luck it is to dropp out of my quill;
For till my memory bee at an end,
(In iest and earnest) I will minde thee still
In iest Ile make such mention of thy worth,
As shall in ernest shew how deere thou art;
In ernest Nick I will so set thee forth,
That thou shalt sell forth-with in any mart.
Yet wert thou myne to sell as myne to vse,
I thinke no chapman would buy thee of mee;
Because thy price should bee so precious,
As one that for no price would part from thee;
Yet if at Hazard thou thyselfe wilt play,
Ile set mee for thee; Nick me then, I pray.