Classic Poem

Drawne (cunning Painter) hast thou with great Arte,
The shadow of my lovely Laura faire;
Which object sweet not smally joyes my hart;
But little didst thou thinke, nor wast thou ware,
That where thou thoughtst my fancie for to please,
Effect contrary sortes to my Desire,
So that it breedes in bodie mine, unease,
And (senslesse) burnes my hart with feeling fire:
Oh strange successe, what made was for Content,
Doth most displease, and (livelesse) doth torment.