Classic Poem

Iff this be love, to fyxe the Eyes onn grownde
To fetch deepe sighes, and softely make my mone
To sheedd not bloode yett have a mortall wounde
To take delighte to muse and walke alone
To burne in flames, yet nott Consume by fyre
Yf this be love, such love desarves his hyre

To feele a harme conceald from whence itt growes
To lyke in harte, yett feare to shewe the same
To seeke releefe from whence I reape my woes
To cloake my inwarde greyfe with outewarde game
To fayne dislik yett languyshe in Desyre
Iff this bee love, such love desarves his hyere

To have straunge thoughts att warr within my mynde
To see my good, and yett my harmes pursue
To vowe my faithe where no regarde I fynde
To loose my selfe in seekinge after yow
To sewe and serve yett never to aspire
But to dysgrace off all my Love the hiere

Iff this be love, as love ytt is in Deede
And yett such Love, may no rewarde obtaine
Yee Fates that have my fortune soo decreede
Yelde him a Death, that lyfe hath in dysdaine
That Shee may saye, to see my date expire
Alas such love, deservde a Better hiere.