Classic Poem

Whill as with whyt e and nimble hand
My Maistres gathring flours doth stand
Amidst the florisht meid
Of lilies whyt e and violets
A garland properly sho plets
To set upon hir heid.
O Sun that shynis so bright above,
If ever thou the fyre of love
Hes felt (as Poets fayne)
If it be sik, as sik it semes,
Of courtesie withdrau thy bemes
Leist thou hir colour stayne.
She, if thou not hir Beutie burne
Sall quyt thee with a better turne?
To close hir cristall ees,
A brightnes far surmounting thyne,
Leist thou thairby asham'd suld tyne
Thy credit, in the skyis.