Classic Poem

Though P ARIS prayse, Apollos Impe gan stayne,
When change of choyce his fickle humor fedde,
And C ARTHAGE cryes, with strayned voyce complayne,
On periurde Prince, by night that faithlesse fledde.
Though I ASONS heste M EDEA founde vntrue,
And others mo there be whose fancye past:
That skorne the olde still haunting after newe,
Wythin whose hartes no leeking long may last,
Yet tyll syr P HEBVS beames shall lose their light,
And Ocean Seas doe cease to ebbe and flowe:
Vntill the day shall turne to perfite night,
And Natures course against her kinde shall goe.
My fixed fayth vnspotted shall remayne,
What would you more, I vowe I doe not fayne.