Classic Poem

1.

'Tis not the diamonde's costlie raye,
Tho' bryghter than the starres above,
Can fixe the eye,
The harte can buy,
That pure affection's tribute paye;
With gratefulle teare,
With sigh sincere,
That bende before thyne altarre, Love!

2.

Stille let Sapphyra's harte be myne,
No other harte I seeke to move;
The tumulte loude
Of Pleasure's crowde
For her contented I resygne:
No other mayde
Will I persuade
To bende before thyne altarre, Love!

3.

Calmlie myne howres shall glyde alonge,
Her kyndnesse shall each care remove;
Her smile shall cheere
The tranquille yeare;
Whyle turnynge from the giddie thronge,
Serenelie gaye,
We'll pass each daye,
And bende before thyne altarre, Love!