Classic Poem

To one whose state is raised over all,
Whose face doth oft the bravest sort enchant,
Whose mind is such, as wisest minds appal,
Who in one self these diverse gifts can plant;
How dare I, wretch, seek there my woes to rest,
Where ears be burnt, eyes dazzled, hearts oppressed?

Your state is great, your greatness is our shield,
Your face hurts oft, but still it doth delight,
Your mind is wise, your wisdom makes you mild;
Such planted gifts enrich e'en beggars' sight:
So dare I, wretch, my bashful fear subdue,
And feed mine ears, mine eyes, my heart in you.