Classic Poem

Delia , these eyes that so admireth thine
Have seene those walls the which ambition rear'd
To check the world, how they intombd have lyen
Within themselves, and on them ploughes have ear'd
Yet found I that no barbarous hand attaind
The spoyle of fame deserv'd by vertuous men,
Whose glorious actions luckily had gaind
Th'eternall Annals of a happy pen
Why then, though Delia fade, let that not move her,
Though time doe spoile her of the fairest vaile
That ever yet mortalitie did cover,
Which must instarre the needle and the Raile.
That grace, that vertue, all that serv'd t'in-woman,
Dooth her unto eternitie assommon.