Classic Poem

Say then faire ALBA, faire, yet full of spight,
What have I done that thou shouldst me undoe?
Holding thee Deare , why setst thou me so light?
Why silent art thou when to thee I sue?
 The more Submissive I, and Humble am,
 Why gainst me dost thy selfe still sdainfull frame?

Whom have I but mine owne Thoughts entertainde,
And thy rare Vertues? and what companie
But Contemplation , hath with me remainde?
And whom have I still wondred at but thee?
 Whom have I not contemnd for thee, since time
 I first beheld that matchles shape of thine?

Have I not crept to some, not trod with feete
On them, cause thou to favour them I saw?
Have not all Injuries to me bin sweete?
If thou didst will me beare them, twas a Law.
 Have I not spent my golden yeares with Hope?
 Seeking nought but thy Love (my Wishes scope.)

Yet in the midst of these distempered Thoughts ,
Thou art not only Jelous of my Truth ,
But makst account of me, farre worse then Noughts,
Nor dost by Message yeeld me any Ruth:
  My Love unspotted, cannot be accepted,
 My Truth (O strange) unspeakable's, rejected.