Classic Poem

Love that doth raine and live within my thought,
And buylt his seat within my captyve brest,
Clad in the armes wherein with me he fowght
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
But she that tawght me love and suffre paine,
My doubfull hope and eke my hote desire
With shamfast clooke to shadoo and refrayne,
Her smyling grace convertyth streight to yre.
And cowarde love then to the hart apace
Taketh his flight, where he doth lorke and playne
His purpose lost, and dare not shew his face.
For my lordes gylt thus fawtles byde I payine;
Yet from my Lorde shall not foote remove:
Sweet is the death that taketh end by love.