Classic Poem

Madam, I told you late how I repented,
I asked a lord a buck, and he denied me;
And, ere I could ask you, I was prevented:
For your most noble offer had supplied me.
Straight went I home; and there most like a poet,
I fancied to myself, what wine, what wit
I would have spent: how every muse should know it,
And Phoebus' self should be at eating it.
O madam, if your grant did thus transfer me,
Make it your gift. See whither that will bear me.