Classic Poem

O pardon, Cupid I confess my fault
Then mercy grant mee in soe just a kind
For treason never lodged in my mind
Against thy might soe much as in a thought,

And now my folly I have deerly bought
Nor could my soule least rest or quiett find
Since rashnes did my thoughts to error bind
Which now thy fury, and my harme hath wrought;

I curse that thought, and hand which that first fram'd
For which by thee I ame most justly blam'd,
Butt now that hand shall guided bee aright,

And give a crowne unto thy endless prayse
Which shall thy glory, and thy greatnes raise
More then thes poore things could thy honor spite.