Classic Poem

That to revive which wronge of tyme might weare
Some that have quaylede the pride of haughty harts
Unto their ffame such Trophes proude doo reare
As aunswere may the height of such desarts
And some agayne doubtinge such statelye frames
Throughe fyre or force might lyckwise bee defaste
In spite of wracke recorded have their names
And worthie deeds in Bookes that alwaies laste
Others lykewyse we see Even at this Daye
So to sett fourth theyr honor wonn in fyelde
In temples huge theyr gayned spoiles displaye
As Banners torne, and many a conquerd Shield
But I your thrall cann no such glorye seeke
Synce of your hande I have receaved the foyle
Although this praise my mynde aswell doth lyke
That such my losse is equall to their spoile.