Classic Poem

Faire Lady when you see the Grace
Of Beauty in your Looking-Glasse:
A stately forhead, smooth and high,
And full of Princely Majesty.
A sparkling eye no gemme so faire,
Whose lustre dimmes the Cyprian starre.
A glorious cheeke divinely sweet,
Wherein both Roses kindly meet.
A cherry Lip that would entice
Even Gods to kisse at any price.
You thinke no beauty is so rare
That with your shaddow might compare.
That your reflection is alone,
The thing that men most dote upon.
Madam, alas your Glasse doth lye,
And you are much deceiv'd; for I
A beauty know of richer grace
(Sweet be not angry) 'tis your face.
Hence then learne more milde to bee,
And leave to lay your blame on mee;
If me your reall substance move;
When you so much your Shaddow Love.
Wise nature would not let your eye
Looke on her owne bright majestie;
Which had you once but gaz'd upon,
You could, except your selfe, love none;
What then you cannot love, let me,
That face I can, you cannot see.
Now you have what to love, you'l say
What then is left for me I pray?
My face sweet heart if it please thee;
That which you can, I cannot see;
So either love shall gaine his due,
Your's sweet in mee, and mine in you.