Classic Poem

Haire, suet haire, tuitchet by Midas' hand
In curling knots, of vich loue makes his nets,
Vho vhen ye loosest hang me fastest band
To her, vorld's lilie among violets,
Deare fatall present, kissing I adore yow,
Because of late ye shade gaue to these roses,
That this earth's beautie in ther red encloses;
I saw vhile ye them hid thay did decore yow:
I'l plaine my voes to yow, I'l tel my thocht,
Alas! since I am absent from my juel,
By vayvard fortune and the heauens more cruel.
Vitnesse be ye vhat loue in me hath vrocht,
In steed to seeke th' end of my mortall paines,
I take delyt to veare his goldin chaines.