Classic Poem

If ( Laura ) thou doost burne gainst me in hate,
Then me such busses sweete why doost thou give?
Why checkst thou not the Cheeks which give the mate,
(The vitall cause whereby I breathe and live)?
Perhaps it is, because through too much joy
(As in sweete swound) I might away depart:
If so thou doo, and thinke me so to noy;
Kisse hardly, and with kissing breed my smart.
Content am I to loose this life of mine,
Whilst I doo kisse that lovely lip of thine.