Classic Poem

Thus I resolve, and time hath taught me so:
Since she is fayre and ever kinde to me,
Though she be wilde and wanton-like in shew,
Those little staines in youth I will not see.
That she be constant, heav'n I oft implore;
If pray'rs prevaile not, I can doe no more.

Palme tree the more you presse, the more it growes:
Leave it alone, it will not much exceede.
Free beauty if you strive to yoke, you lose,
And for affection strange distaste you breede.
What Nature hath not taught, no Arte can frame:
Wilde borne be wilde still, though by force made tame.