Classic Poem

Thine eyes taught mee the Alphabet of love,
To con my Cros-rowe ere I learn'd to spell:
For I was apt a scholler like to prove,
Gave mee sweet lookes when as I learned well.

Vowes were my vowels when I then begun
At my first Lesson in thy sacred name,
My consonants the next when I had done,
Words consonant, and sounding to thy fame.

My liquids then were liquid christall teares,
My cares my mutes so mute to crave reliefe,
My dolefull Dypthongs were my lives dispaires,
Redoubling sighes the accents of my griefe:
My loves Schoole-mistris now hath taught me so,
That I can reade a story of my woe.