Classic Poem

The wandring Outlaw borne to woe,
and bred a banisht man:
Vntaught the suttle sleights of loue,
of loue this tale began.
When fyrst my sences dranke the sweete,
that gaue my body blood:
I felt no Foe to let my loue,
nor God against my good.
Tyll luste misreckned my delightes,
my wandring ioyes to ende:
And founde her out to stay such toyes,
to stande my trustie friende.
I boast the graunt if all were giuen,
it may, would God it might:
O happie man, more happie mayde,
if all had hit aright.
Mishap withholdes no meane to hope,
to purchase my pretence:
Beautie me rauisht first, and now
reuength without offence.
Thus like a childe agayne, vntaught
the sleightes of dayntie mindes:
Such nurture take I of my Nurse,
as Nature iustly bindes.
These sides enshrine her stately loue,
if other thoughts she haue:
She shall possesse that I professe,
and yet her honor saue.