Classic Poem

Madame, ye been alle beautee shrine
As fer as cercled is the mapemounde:
For as the crystal glorious ye shine,
And like ruby been youre cheekes rounde.
Therwith ye been so merye and so jocounde
That at a revel whan that I see you daunce
It is an oinement unto my wounde,
Though ye to me ne do no daliaunce.

For though I weepe of teres ful a tine,
Yit may that wo myn herte nat confounde;
Youre semy vois, that ye so smale outtwine,
Maketh my thought in joye and blis habounde:
So curteisly I go with love bounde
That to myself I saye in my penaunce,
"Suffiseth me to love you, Rosemounde,
Though ye to me ne do no daliaunce."

Was nevere pik walwed in galauntine
As I in love am walwed and ywounde,
For which ful ofte I of myself divine
That I am trewe Tristam the secounde;
My love may not refreide nor affounde;
I brenne ay in amorous plesaunce:
Do what you list, I wol youre thral be founde,
Though ye to me ne do no daliaunce.