Classic Poem

Wher leaste of all I dyd susspecte
I wronged was, butt free from wracke
A tonge with venome soo infecte
as wounded me behynde my backe
And lyke a vypar sought to kill
The harte that nevar thought hym yll

With will as ryffe to rayse debate
as barrayne wytt to practyse good
Whose spighte at others better Estate
bewrayes his want off gentell blood
Yett nature muste I neades excuse
For crafte lurkes moste in clowted shooes

Butt as the Dogg that howles by nighte
agaynste bryghte synthyas face in vayne
So envy barckte butt coulde not byte
the spottles trothe that takes no stayne
O vipars stynge and traytorus snare
Of malyce wantinge harte to dare

This in dyspighte off all thy spighte
cann I both see and shunne thy bayte
And with the beames of truthe and ryghte
dissolve thy mystes off fowle decayte
Thow madste the rodde thy scourge to bee
Thow dygdste the pitt shall swallowe thee.