Classic Poem

If knowledge mine could compasse wylling will,
To sounde her fame, so well as deedes deserue:
Or if in Verse by prayse of Poets skill,
I able were to wryte what I reserue.
Then should my pen put forth what now I holde,
And to the worlde her vertues rare vnfolde.

But sithe in me such sacred lore doth fayle,
I leaue the same to S OPHOS learned brayne:
As one whose bare and naked Muse doth quayle,
To vndertake her glory to explayne.
Least lack of skill that might in me appeere,
Should clipse the light which now doth shine so cleere.

A perfite Pearle it selfe doth shewe so well,
That naught it needes a foyle to blase the same:
Her prayse lykewise, the rest doth so excell,
That finer wittes will spred her Noble name.
What should I then vpon her feature stande,
Which shewes it selfe lyke sunne against the sande?

Her curious shape, who views and doth not prayse,
In Noble minde she second is to none:
Not Fortune, but deserts, her fame doth rayse,
For Fortune bowes to Vertues loftie throne.
Where loe she setled sits, in seate so bright,
As H ESPER cleere with gleames of glittering light.