Classic Poem

When I complayne I doo butt fayne
my passyon ys noo inwarde griefe
I sporte withall when I doo call
The Gods of love to my releefe

Whylste from myne eyes the forste teares ryse
in secrete to my selfe I smyle
Butt that to lett deepe syghes I fett
as thoughe my harte woulde breake the while

I never fownde so sure a grownde
to purchase grace as newe devyse
To merytt oughte ytt proffitts noughte
butt as a hazard on the deyce

To women kinde a dowble mynde
fitts beste to maintayne sporte and game
And who will speede muste have att neede
in eyther hande both froste and flame

I fynde and trye Inconstancye
ys that which alweys yeldes delyghte
For when I prove one scornes my love
another fayrer seames in syghte

As true as touche is steemede muche
butt that brave style I sett not bye
A mistres kynde of raunginge mynde
is love for which men never dye

Adore theyr Eyes lyke starres in skies
deeme deare theyr looks as winters Sunne
And for all this a hande to kisse
ys favoure greate a fayre threade spunne

Who lykes theys toyes geve me true Joyes
I feade nott fatt on bare conceyte
Who learnes this skill may love at will
and shunne the hooke or take the bayte.