Classic Poem

When first the cruell Faire deignd graciously
To looke on mee with kinde and curteous view,
And cast on mee a lovely glauncing eye,
She knew not that I was her servant trew:
But she no sooner ware was of the same,
But that she turnd her backe with great disdaine.
So as the wound I (then) close bare in brest,
I (now) through griefe, show outward in my face:
But if that she by whom I wounded rest,
Lives in compassion cold toward me sanz grace:
Hard harted is she, cruell was she to her frend,
And wicked shalbe world withouten end.