Classic Poem

TAWNY and BLACK, my Courtly Colours be,
Tawny, (because forsooke I am) I weare:
Black, (since mine ALBAS Love is dead to me,
Yet liveth in another) I do beare.
Then welcome TAWNY, since I am forsaken,
And come deare BLACK, since my Love's from me taken.

The princelike Eagle's never smit with Thunder,
Nor th'Olive tree with Lightning blasted showes:
No marveile then it is to me, or wonder,
Though my Coy Dame, in Love to me hard growes:
More deafe to me she is then sensles stock,
Her Hart's obdurate like the hardned rock.

But what meane I thus without Reason prate?
I am no more forsaken then I was:
My Love's no more dead then it was of late;
For yet mine ALBA nere for me did passe:
My Love's not dead, she never me forsooke,
For ALBA (nere yet) me in favour tooke.

As many Favours have I as before:
For since I her (first) lov'd, she me disdainde,
And still doth so, still wounding me the more,
As in despayre I have ere since remainde:
Yet I in BLACK and TAWNY Weedes will goe,
Because Forsooke, and dead I am with woe.