Classic Poem

A crowne of Sonetts
dedicated to Love.
In this strang labourinth how shall I turne?
Wayes are on all sids while the way I miss:
If to the right hand, ther, in love I burne;
Lett mee goe forward, therin danger is;
If to the left, suspition hinders bliss,
Lett mee turne back, shame cries I ought returne
Nor fainte though crosses with my fortunes kiss;
Stand still is harder, allthough sure to mourne;

Thus lett mee take the right, or left hand way;
Goe forward, or stand still, or back retire;
I must thes doubts indure with out allay
Or help, butt traveile find for my best hire;

Yett that which most my troubled sence doth move
Is to leave all, and take the thread of love.