Classic Poem

In my first yeeres, and prime yet not at hight,
When sweet conceits my wits did entertaine,
Ere beautie's force I knew or false delight,
Or to what oare shee did her captiues chaine,
Led by a sacred troupe of Phaebus' traine,
I first beganne to reade, then loue to write,
And so to praise a perfect red and white,
But, God wot, wist not what was in my braine:
Loue smylde to see in what an awfull guise
I turn'd those antiques of the age of gold,
And, that I might moe mysteries behold,
Hee set so faire a volumne to mine eyes,
That I, (quires clos'd, which dead, dead sighs but breath,)
Ioye on this liuing booke to reade my death.