Classic Poem

I.

Since none must dare,
Your Chains to wear,
Unless he wears some kind of Crown,
To gratifie
My Mistress, I
Have but, as a Poor Poet, one;

II.

So but with it,
Title to Wit,
I seek, which lost by Praise wou'd be;
For which, no Grace
I seek, or Place,
But what your Heart may give to me;

III.

No Wealth, or Fame,
Honour, Good Name,
Seek, but by Praise I give to you;
Being whose Slave,
I've all I crave,
And, by your Chains, but prouder grow;

IV.

Kings, to the Shame
Of their Kind Dame,
Degrading Honours oft bestow;
But Poets raise,
More, by their Praise,
The Humble She, whom they lay low;

V.

Kings to their Dames,
Give Titles, Names,
As Huntsmen to their Bitches do;
For Sport they give,
To them bequeath,
The Names of Countess, Duchess too;

VI.

Them, so Kings raise,
To their Disgrace,
Whose Titles forfeit Men's Esteem;
Th' Immortal Wit,
When he thinks fit,
With Praise, makes Goddesses of them;

VII.

So the Cheap She,
Preferr'd to be,
The Deifying Poet's Theme;
For his Love, ne'er
Shall Scandal fear,
But get by him, a Greater Name;

VIII.

Thee then I shall,
My Goddess call,
Saint, Angel, such Stiles Poets give;
By which, the Fame,
Of each Kind Dame,
In Verse Immortal, still may live;

IX.

Since her Fame's more,
As is her Store,
Of Christian Faith, Love, Charity;
She who does show
Her Bowels so,
In Scorn of Fame, loves hon'rably;

X.

But she who does
Her Honour lose,
To have her Name by Titles grac'd;
Deserves more Shame,
Selling her Fame,
By Honours rais'd, is more debas'd;

XI.

I honour her,
Who ne'er will fear,
For me, the Public Name of Whore;
She has my Heart,
Who dares to part
With Fame, or Honour, on my Score.

XII.

For Honest She,
Can never be,
Who to Love does not Grateful prove;
To Love she's just,
Who mine will trust,
And pawns her Honour, for my Love.