Classic Poem

Whilste hope high Honnors place to have
estraungde from me thy parson brave
So deeply printed in my mynde
althoughe my breste consumde in flame
I was contented with the same
and in my paine dyd pleasure fynde

For thy faire lockes of daynty hue
wrythed each daye in fations newe
To overshade thy azurde vaynes
so hootely sett my harte on fire
That I dyd nevar once desyre
to breake the bondage of those chaynes

The dyvers glaunces of thyn Eyes
coulde force my hope to fall and ryse
As yelden thrall unto thy will
the lovelye dye off thy sweete face
Thy comely shape thy stately grace
doth cause my thoughts to tremble still

Ingrate so much I was thine owne
that all my care was to make knowne
How farr the rest thow dydste surpasse
for loe the glory of thy name
Which now to saye I blushe for shame
uppon my browe engraved was

How often hath my harte byne colde
leaste Jelous eyes woulde it beholde
And by the smoke the fyer bewraye
how ofte coulde I myne eyes constraine
To melte in byttar teares amayne
the kindlinge sparkles to delaye

Those dayes me lyste no more to prove
nor yett to fawne on Shypewracke love
Thy dotinge deeds thy happe dysgraste
thy heares no more shall tangle me
Thyn Eyes my Sunnshine shall nott bee
thy lyvelye collore is defaste

Demaundste thow why so standes the Case
because thy mynde became so base
To make thy selfe a Mydas praye
for hadste thou bynne a faulcon sure
Thow hadste nott stoupte to such a lure
thy fame had scornde to soare that waye

Hadste thow pursude thy noble kinde
honor shoulde fyrste have wonne thy mynde
Or love off such as lyckte thyn Eye
butt so to sett thine harte on fire
Onely for clownishe muckes desyre
that deede the worlde muste needs defye.