Classic Poem

No more with candied words infect mine ears,
Tell me no more how that you pine in anguish,
When sound you sleep no more say that you languish,
No more in sweet despite say you spend tears.
Who hath such hollow eyes as not to see
How those that are hare-brained boast of Apollo,
And bold give out the Muses do them follow,
Though in love's library yet no lovers be.
If we poor souls least favor do them show,
That straight in wanton lines abroad is blazed;
Their names doth soar on our fame's overthrow,
Marked is our lightness whilst their wits are praised.
In silent thought who can no secret cover,
He may, say we, but not well, be a lover.