Classic Poem

Sonnett

The fayrest scornynge to see my lybertye;
Tooke from proude love his Bowe his shafts and quiver
And framde a harquebusse of her rare Beawtye
Wherewith hee nowe is become a souldier
For murdringe Bulletts she lent her percinge eyes
Her smyles for match for powder her brave gestur
And of her glory great that through the world flyes
She made hyme a costely flaske and furniture
Her invincyble mynde his graven Morryon
In her bewtyfull heares his ambushe he layes
Her snowe white bosome his place off garrison
My harte the frounture which he often assaies
And what Armore alas so ever I prove
He pearceth it throughe so good a shott is love.