Classic Poem

A Proper Sonet

I smile to see how you devise
New masking nets my eies to bleare;
Your self you cannot so disguise,
But as you are, you must appeare.

Your privie winkes at boord I see,
And how you set your raving mind.
Your self you cannot hide from me,
Although I wincke, I am not blind.

The secret sighs, and fained cheare,
That oft doth paine thy carefull brest,
To me right plainly doth appeare;
I see in whom thy hart doth rest.

makest a fained vow,
That love no more thy heart should nip;
Yet think I know, as well as thou,
The fickle helm doth guide the ship.

The salamander in the fire,
By course of kinde, doth bathe his limmes:
The floting fish taketh his desire
In running streames, whereas he swimmes.

So thou in change doth take delight;
Ful wel I know thy slipperie kinde:
In vaine thou seemst to dim my sight,
Thy rowling eies bewraieth thy minde.

I see him smile, that doth possesse
Thy love, which once I honoured most:
If he be wise, he may well gesse,
Thy love, soon won, wil soon be lost.

And sith thou canst no man intice,
That he should stil love thee alone;
Thy beautie now hath lost her price,
I see thy savorie sent is gone.

Therefore, leave off thy wonted plaie;
But as thou art thou wilt appeare,
Unlesse thou canst devise a waie
To dark the sun, that shines so cleare.

And keep thy friend, that thou hast won;
In trueth to him thy love supplie;
Least he at length, as I have done,
Take off thy belles, and let thee flie.

Soldier of Rome, well-trained and hard,
Who dwelt in Britain once and warred,
With no outlandish creed to mar
The stern salvation of the war.

Strong in yourself, you bore your care,
Your soul was like your camp, four-square;
And uncomplaining, iron-shod,
Marched with Rome's honour for your god.

No bigot! In barbarian lands,
Roman where Rome no longer stands,
This altar to your hard-won love:
Earth, and the Nymphs and Springs thereof.