Classic Poem

Not much vnlike the horse
that feeles himself opprest
With weightie burthen on his backe,
doth long to be at rest:
So I, whose boiling brest
with fansies floud did flow,
Had great desire my great good will
with painting pen to show:
To ease my wofull hart
of long endured paine,
And purchace quiet to my mind,
whom loue wel nie hath slaine.
Beleeue my words (deere dame)
dissembling is a sinne,
Not mine, but thine, these many days
my captiue hart hath bin
But shame, and coward feare,
the louers mortall foes,
Would neuer condescend that I
my meaning should disclose
Till now at length desire
my wonted ease to gaine:
Did bid me sue for grace, and said
I should not sue in vaine.
For as thy beautie is
farre brauer than the rest,
So bountie must of force abound
within thy noble brest.
Oh, seeke not thou to shed
or sucke of yeelding blood:
Alas, I thinke to murther me
would do thee little good.
Whom if you seeme to rue,
as I do hope you will,
In prayse of your good nature then
my hand shall shew his skill.
Lo here in pawne of loue,
I vowe my selfe to thee:
A slaue, a seruant, and a friend
till dying day to bee.