Classic Poem

When I behold that beauties wonderment,
And rare perfection of each goodly part:
Of natures skill the onely complement,
I honor and admire the makers art.
But when I feele the bitter balefull smart,
Which her fayre eyes unwares doe worke in mee:
That death out of theyr shiny beames doe dart,
I thinke that I a new Pandora see.
Whom all the Gods in councell did agree,
Into this sinfull world from heaven to send:
That she to wicked men a scourge should bee,
For all their faults with which they did offend.
But since ye are my scourge I will intreat,
That for my faults ye will me gently beat.