Classic Poem

Ah silly pugg wert thou so sore a frayd
mourne not my wat nor be thou so dismaid
It passeth fickle fortunes powre and skil
to force my harte to thinke thee any ill

no fortune base thou saist shall alter thee
And may so blind a wretch then conquer me
no no my pug though fortune weare not blind
assure thie selfe she could not rule my mind

Ne chouse I thee by foolish fortunes reede
Ne can she make me alter with such speede
but must thou neads sowre sorrowes servant be
if that to try thie mistris Jest with thee.

Fortune I grant somtimes doth conquer kinges
And rules and raignes on earth and earthlie thinges
but never thinke that fortune can beare sway
if vertue watche and will not her obay.

plucke up thie hart suppresse thie brackish teares
torment the not but put away thie feares
thie Love thie Joy she loves no worthlesse bands
much lesse to be in reeling Fortunes hands

Dead to all Joyes and living unto woe
slayne quite by her that never gave wiseman blow
revive againe and live without all dread
the Lesse afrayde the better shalt thou spead.