Classic Poem

Sonet . 4

Tell mee, tell mee pretty Muse,
Canst thou neither will nor chuse
But he busie with my braine,
Still to put my wits to paine?
Shall my heart within my brest.
Neuer haue an hower of Rest?

Idle humor what doth ayle thee?
Not a thought that can auayle thee:
Be thou neere so woe begon thee
Beautie will not looke vpon thee,
Fortune wholy hath forlorne thee,
And for loue it hath forsworne thee.

But if vertue haue procurd thee,
And that honour haue coniur'd thee
In affection's royalty,
To discharge loue's loyaltie
That the Eye of truth may see.
Then doe what thou wilt for me.

Worke my wit vnto thy will,
Keepe thy hammers working still:
Vse thine arte in euery thought,
With such temper to be wrought
That Aglaia may aprooue,
Vertue's skill in framing Loue.

But if any labour lacke,
Or if either flawe or cracke
Make the mettall not so fine,
That the worke be not deuine
And well fit for honour's store
Neuer come at me no more