Classic Poem

My mall, I mark that when you mean to prove me
To buy a velvet gown, or some rich border,
Thou callst me good sweet heart, thou swearst to love me,
Thy locks, thy lips, thy looks, speak all in order,
Thou thinks't, and right thou thinks't, that these do move me,
That all these severally thy suit do further:
But shall I tell thee what most thy suit advances?
Thy fair smoothe words? no, no, thy fair smoothe haunches.