Classic Poem

Wo, wo to me! on me returne the smart:
My burning tongue hath bred my mistresse paine;
For oft in paine to paine, my painefull heart
With her due praise did of my state complaine.
I praisde her eyes, whom neuer chance doth moue;
Her breath, which makes a sower answer sweete;
Her milken breasts, the nurse of child-like loue;
Her legges (O legges!); her ay well-stepping feete.
Paine heard her praise, and full of inward fire
(First sealing vp my heart as pray of his),
He flies to her, and, boldned with desire,
Her face (this age's praise) the thiefe doth kisse.
O Paine, I now recant the praise I gaue,
And sweare she is not worthy thee to haue.