Classic Poem

Timantes when he saw he could not paint
With lively colours (to his lasting fame)
Such workes he tooke in hand, and found too faint
His cunning, seeking for to hide the same,
He over them a subtell shadow drew.
So that his faults, or none or few could view.
So Ladie, I finding my wit too weake,
With currant tearmes your beautie foorth to blaze,
And that to arrive too blunt is my conceit
Unto the height of your surmounting praise:
With silence forced am (against my will)
To shadow my defect, (the want of skill).
Yet doo I hope, the shadow you'l not scorne,
Since Princes in their stately Arbors greene
Account of shade, as trees which frute adorne,
Because from heate they welcome shelters been:
The Shadow shields gainst Sunne your beautie faire,
Which else his scortching heate would much impaire.
Then though a Shadow without frute I bee,
And scarce yeeld leaves to cover this my barke:
Accept these leaves thy Beauties Shade of mee,
Where wealth doth ebbe, good will doth flow from Hart:
Deigne me for all my love but Shadow thine,
Thy Substance's too too high for Fortune mine.