Classic Poem

If beawtie did not blinde the eies it were a blessed thinge to see
But when it spoiles the eye sight so, it is no looking glasse for me.
If riches did not fall to rust, then woulde I loue the gowlden heape,
But since that drosse dothe fall to duste I will not sowe & other reape,
If wisdome did not maze the wittes and all the sence of reason passe,
I wolde be wise, but hate the witt to make a wise man proue an asse
If grammer were not oute of grace then wolde I gladlie goe to schoole,
But when that learning hathe no lucke I see the wise is but a foole.
Yf honor were not cause of pride, then woulde I wishe authoritie
But since that pride is in such hate I make no haste to dignitie.
If loue were not the deathe of life then wolde I learne the life to love,
But since I finde the passion suche I doe not care the paine to proue.
But since that beawtie, loue welth witt bothe learning and the loftie powre,
And euery thought of euery sweete dothe carrie suche a secret sowre;
I will resolue on this conceite to sett my hart on none of these
But on that heavnlie loue of His that harde misfortune cannot leese;
Whose face is fayrer then the sunne whose brightest beawtie euer shineth.
And cleeres the eies, and cheeres the harte, that to His holy will enclineth.
Whose lone is suche a Joye of life, as lets the louer neuer dye,
Who dyed for loue and liues with loue wher loue doth liue eternallie;
Whose welth is such a worlde of ioyes, as neuer worlde can comprehende,
And doth in comfort still encrease when all the world shall have an ende
Whose wisdome in the waie of truthe doth so vnite the wites together
As leades them to the havne of rest that ranging were they know not whether.
Whose learning is the law of love whose love is all the lawe of life
Wher patience dothe by prayre find the happie end of euerie strife;
Whose powre is as farre from pride as heavnlie from hellishe hate,
Who scorneth none but loueth all as well the lowe as highe of state.
This is the Beawtie, loue welthe witt the learninge and the living powr
That shewes the sowle the secrett sweete that neuer tasteth of the sowre;
And blessed be that beawtie sweete that is no swete vnto the sight,
But in the harte of highest love is founde the lampe of heavnlie light,
And ten times honor to that love wher faithfull hope dothe euer liue
From whence the sowle receiues the sweete it mercie doth repentaunce giue;
And euer liue that lovely store that shewes the treasure of the minde,
Wher humble faithe doth winne the welthe that worldlie fortune cannot find.
And worship to that wisdome greate that is the grace of highest witt
And shewes the humble sowle the sweete where mercie doth in glorie sitt.
And glory to that heavnly grace, that giues the rule of perfect loue,
Which findes the onlie sweete of sweetes that neuer anie sorrow proue,
And praise vnto that highest powre wher mercie is the marke of grace
That he that hath no rest on earth in heavne shall haue a dwelling place.
This beawtie, loue, this welth this witt this learning and this living powre,
This summe of sweete which doth admitt no summe at all of anie sowre,
The wisdome how to knowe all these and powre to vse them to the best.
In these desires to liue and die doth Bretons resolucon rest.