Classic Poem

The laurel leafe which you this day doe weare
Gives me great hope of your relenting mynd:
For since it is the badg which I doe beare,
Ye, bearing it, doe, seeme, to me inclind
The powre thereof, which ofte in me I find,
Let it lykewise your gentle breat inspire
With sweet infusion and put you in mind
Of that proud may'd whom now those leaves attyre.
Proud Daphne, scorning Phaebus lovely fyre,
On the Thessalian shore from him did flie:
For which the gods, in theyr revengefull yre,
Did her transforme into a laurell tree.
Then fly no more, fayre love, from Phebus chace,
But in your breast his leafe and love embrace.