Classic Poem

Who hath not seene into her saffron bed
The morning's goddesse mildly her repose,
Or her, of whose pure bloud first sprang the rose,
Lull'd in a slumber by a mirtle shade?
Who hath not seene that sleeping white and red
Makes Phaebe look so pale, which shee did close
In that Ionian hill, to ease her woes,
Which only liues by nectare kisses fed?
Come but and see my ladie sweetly sleepe,
The sighing rubies of those heauenly lips,
The Cupids which brest's golden apples keepe,
Those eyes which shine in midst of their ecclipse,
And hee them all shall see, perhaps, and proue
Shee waking but perswades, now forceth loue.