Classic Poem

Henceforth I will nott sett my love
on other then the Contrye lasse
For in the Courte I see and prove
fancye is brittle as the glasse
The love bestowed on the greate
ys ever full of toile and cares
Subject still to frowne and freate
with sugred bayts in suttle snares
In good olde tymes ytt was the guyse
to shewe things in their proper kinde
Love painted owte in nakede wise
to shewe his playne and single mynde
Butt since into the Courte hee came
infected with a braver stile
Hee loste both propertie and name
attyred all in crafte and guile
Yett in the village styll hee kepes
and merry makes with lytle coste
But never breakes their quyett slepes
with Jelous thoughts or labor loste
What thoughe in Sylvar and in golde
the bony lass be nott so brave
Yett are her lookes freshe to beholde
and that is hyt that love doth crave
Fayre fale the Pettycote off redde
that vayles the skynne as white as mylke
And such as woulde nott so bee speedde
lett them goe Coye the gownes off sylke
Keepe ladyes keepe for your owne turnes
the spanishe redde to mende your lookes
For when the Sunn my Daphnae burnes
shee seekes the water off the Brookes
And thoughe the muske and amber fine
so ladyelyke Shee cannott gett
Yett will shee weare the sweet woodbyne
the Prymerose and the violett.