Classic Poem

Haires lovely Browne immur'd with pearle and gold,
How ill fits you this Ribbon Carnatine,
Since I no more your Mistris now behold,
Of my disaster, most unlucky signe,
Who to me gave this Bracelet for a FAVOUR,
A work by Beautie framde through LOVES true labour.

How often would she, bout my Wrist still prie,
And underminde me (by devise) as twere,
Making a shew of Doubt and Jelousie,
As if I it forgot bout me to beare?
But now I feare me, through her staying ore long,
Both LOVE, Her self, and Me, she much doth wrong.

Who ever saw a Beautie such, so faire,
Lodgde in a subject so unconstant found?
Who ever saw more loyall Lover rare,
To such hard Fortune (causeles) to be bound?
Ah why is not (as is her face) her Minde?
Th'one's Faire, the other, I Forgetfull finde.

Then lovely Haires, my dearest Harts best Ease,
You must from Handwrist mine to Hatband black:
There must you bide, though me it doth displease,
Since whom I would, I most of all do lack.
This sable place doth fit you best to mourne,
Where you unseene, shall lie till she returne.