Classic Poem

Disdainful dame, why didst thou scorne the wight that wisht thee wel?
May peevish pride a harbour have where beautie doth excell?
No rascall here did seeke to sport, or joyne with gentle race,
Though hautie lookes (thy forme except) were showne in basest place.

The haggard gill despiseth oft to pray on princely fowle,
To straggle out at carren crowe, and checke with uglie owle.
Thy gadding trickes pursues her trade with vauntage in defect;
Haile fellowe mett with basest sort, the best thou dost detect.

Beleeve how that thy forme was framde by fonde Narcissus glase,
Dame Beauties giftes full fickle are, and fade as doth the grasse;
Thy goulden haires to hoarie graie will chaunge their glittering hue,
Thy Lays life, and luring lookes, no doubt thy bane will brue.

Thy face, so fresh in prime of youth, will wrinkled be with age,
Then taunting tongue from scorneful nipps dame Nature will assuage:
Thy mountaine breasts, which beares such bredth, thy pride in princely gate,
Thy graces al in tracte of time wil chaunge their former state.

Then shalt thou feele the force of scorne, what fruites from pride proceede,
The ace of hartes will haunt the stocke, thy chiefest helpe at neede.