Classic Poem

Except my hart which you beestow'd before,
And for a signe of conquest gave away
As worthles to bee kept in your choyse store
Yett one more spotles with you doth nott stay.

The tribute which my hart doth truly pay
Is faith untouch'd, pure thoughts discharge the score
Of debts for mee, wher constancy bears sway,
And rules as Lord, unharm'd by envyes sore,

Yett other mischiefs faile nott to attend,
As enimies to you, my foes must bee;
Curst jealousie doth all her forces bend
To my undoing; thus my harmes I see.

Soe though in Love I fervently doe burne,
In this strange labourinth how shall I turne?