Classic Poem

Come , my Corinna, let us try
Which loves you best, of you, and I;
I know you oft have in your glasse,
Seene the faint shaddow of your face,
And, consequently, then became
A wond'ringe lover as I am;
Though not so great a one, for what
You saw, was but a glimpse of that
So sweet, so charminge Majestie,
Which I in its full luster see:
But, if you then had gaz'd upon
Your selfe, as your reflection,
And seene those eys for which I dye,
Perhapps you'd beene as sick, as I.
Thus, Sweetest, then it is confest!
That, of us lovers, I love best;
You'l say 'tis reason, that my share
Bee great, as my Affections are,
When you, insensibly, are growne
More mine, by conquest, than your owne:
But, if this Argument I name
Seeme light, to such a glorious clayme;
Yet, since you love your selfe, this doe,
Love mee, at least, for loving you;
So my despayre you may destroy,
And you your loved selfe enjoy,
Acting those things, can nere bee done,
Whilst you remain your selfe alone:
So for my sighs you make amends,
So you have yours, and I my ends.