Classic Poem

Sonnett

Vauntinge sometymes how I had bynn a thralle
unto the Rigor off your tyrannye
Love, that same love that Conquers kings and all
dyd lye in waite to trappe me sodaynlye
Such was his skill acquaintede with my thought
to leade me on unto my death to runne
That firste of all the way to me hee taughte
to your sweete Eyes more pleasinge then the sunne
This brought aboute the guilfull flattringe Boye
fearinge least that dispaire might cut the knott
Sayde unto me lyve thow in happe and Joye
feade on her lookes, her favour is thy lott
And deeplye sware by your faire hand to me
That I your harte and yow my Sowle should bee.