Classic Poem

Ah might I once perswaded be at last,
These skalding sighs of mine should have an end,
That I for Sower, some Sweet (at length) might taste,
And that the CRUEL FAIRE would not contend
 Ever gainst me; I then would (gently) take,
 And suffer all these wrongs for her sweete sake.

Too well I know (and I confesse the same)
That too too loftie is my proud Desire:
My soaring Thoughts, deserving mickle blame,
And I, ore bold, presume too high t'aspire:
 Yet still (me thinkes) mine Ayme, being not base,
 I should deserve some little tynie Grace.

Say then (sweete LOVE) for thou with ALBA mine,
Dost sojorne, wheresoever she doth bide,
Say, am I like, that, to obtaine in time,
From which I now am so farre off, and wide?
 Ah say the truth, doth she once thinke on me?
 Doth she but wish that I with her might be?

Ah had not Reason my Desires refrainde,
I had, my Thoughts deare Soveraigne , seene ere this,
Whose Grace I sought (but bootles) to have gainde,
The only joy I in this world would wish.
 Rather would I see those chaste beautious Eyes,
 Then chuse to be in matchlesse Paradise.