Classic Poem

Bright starre of Beauty, on whose eye-lids sit
A thousand Nimph-like and inamor'd Graces,
The Goddesses of Memory and Wit,
Which there in order take their severall places,
In whose deare Bosome, sweet delicious Love
Layes downe his Quiver, which he once did beare:
Since he that blessed Paradise did prove,
And leaves his Mothers lap to sport him there,
Let others strive to entertaine with Words,
My Soule is of a braver Mettle made,
I hold that vile, which Vulgar wit affords;
In Me's that Faith which Time cannot invade.
Let what I praise, be still made good by you:
Be you most worthy, whilst I am most true.