Classic Poem

When I behoulde the trees in the earthes fayre lyuerye clothed
Ease I do feele, suche ease as faulles to me wholy diseased
For that I fynde in them parte of my state represented
Lawrell showes what I seek, by the Myrr is showde how I seek it
Olyue poyntes me the pryce that I muste aspyre to by conquest
Myrtle makes me requeste, my requeste is vnsealde by a Willowe
Cipruss promisethe healpe, but healp it bringes me no comfort
Sweet Iuniper sayes thus, thoughe I burne, yet I burn in a sweet fyre
Ewe dothe make me thinke what kynd of bowe the boye houldethe,
Whiche shootes throughe w th out any noyse and deadlye w th out smarte.
Firr tree is great and greene fyxte one a hye hill but a barren.
Lyke to my noble thoughtes styll newe, well plaste, to me fruteless.
Figg that yealdes moste pleasaunt frute his shadow is hurtefull.
Thus be her guifts most sweet thus most dawnger to be neere her
But in Palme when I mark howe he dothe ryse vnder a burthen
And maye not I saye than get vp thoughe grefes be so wayghtye
Pyne is a maste to a shipp, to my shipp shall hope for a mast serue
Pyne is hyghe, hope is as hyghe, yet be my hopes budded.
Elme imbraste by a Vine, embracinge fancye reuiuethe.
Popler chaungethe his hewe, from a rysinge sun to a settinge.
Thus to my sunn do I yealde, suche lookes her beames do afford me,
Ould aged oke cutt doune for new workes serues to the buildinge
So my desy r s by feare cut downe for the frames of her honor
Palmes do reioyse to be ioynde w th the matche of a male to a femall
And shall sensiue thinges be so sensless as to resist sense
Ashe makes speare w ch sheilds do resiste, hi r force no repuls takes
Thus be my thoughts disperst thus thinkinge nowrsest a thought still
But to the Cædar queen of woodes when I lyft my betrayde eys
Than do I shape my selfe that forme w ch raygnes so within me
And thinke ther she dothe dwell and here w t pllaynts I do vtte r
When that noble topp dothe nodd I beleiue she salutes me
Than kneelinge often thus I do speake to her image.
Onlye Iewell, all onlye Iewell, whiche onlye deserueste
That mens heartes be thy seat and endless fame be y l seruante
O descend for a whill from this great hyghte to behoulde me
But nought else do behoulde or it is not worthe the behouldinge
Se what a thought is wrought by thy selfe! and since I am alltred
that w ch is by thy selfe done.
In meane caues oft treasue r abydes, to an hostry a kinge comes
— And so behind black cloudes full oft faye r streams do ly hidden.