Classic Poem

When Loue, puft vp with rage of hy disdaine,
Resolu'd to make me patterne of his might,
Like foe, whose wits inclin'd to deadly spite,
Would often kill, to breed more feeling paine;
He would not, arm'd with beautie, only raigne
On those affectes which easily yeeld to sight;
But vertue sets so high, that reason's light,
For all his strife can onlie bondage gaine:
So that I liue to pay a mortall fee,
Dead-palsie-sicke of all my chiefest parts;
Like those whom dreames make vglie monsters see,
And can crie helpe with nought but grones and starts:
Longing to haue, hauing no wit to wish, —
To staruing minds such is god Cupid's dish.