Classic Poem

Sonnett

O love how my sweete Mistres in bewty all excellethe
when eyther hir bright eyes with homage I contemplate
or els her golden tresse where gayned glory dwelleth
or those fayre lylly cheekes mixt with so cleare incarnate
But love howe Shee agayne in cruelty excedeth
when eithar hyr refuse my humble suits disdayneth
or when to see hir frownes my harte for sorrow bledeth
or when throughe hir distruste my faith no credit gaineth
This with the one hyr lovly lookes I meane so woundinge
my harte is ravishte quite with hyghe concayte of pleasure
this with the other hyr rygor all hope confoundinge
my mynde the bettar parte is vexed oute of measure
See how my dropps off sweet o: love are sawst with streames of strife
Which maks me dye a lyvinge death, and lyve a dyinge lyfe.