Classic Poem

E.C.

Through thee (not of thee) Ladie faire I write,
Through power of Beautie, not of Vertues thine:
With zealous will, though slender be my might,
I weakling seeke, an Eagles nest to clime.
Then guide my feete, and if to slip I chaunce,
Uphold mee by the favour of thy glaunce.
Accept in gree these Verses rudely pend,
(A signe of dutie, which to thee I owe)
And deigne with sweet regard them to defend,
Which as condemned els are like to goe.
In thee it rests the stampe on them to set,
If currant, Passe: supprest, if Counter fet.
And though the note (thy praises onely fit)
Of sweetest Bird, the dulcet Nightingale:
Disdaine not little Roben Red-bresT yet,
What he doth want in learning or in skill,
He doth supply with zeale of his goodwill.
For onely Thee they were devisde alone,
And unto Thee they dedicated are.
Who knowes? Perhaps this kindnes by thee showne,
Shall make this glimpse shine like a glistering starre:
Such is thy vertue in the World his sight,
Thy Crow though blacke, may goe for Swan most white.
Then doubt mee not, though parted wee remaine,
In England thou, and I in Italy:
As I did part I will returne againe,
Loyall to thee, or els with shame Ile dye.
True Lovers when they travaile Countreyes strange,
The aire, and not their constant mindes doo change.