Classic Poem

From your fayre eyes the kendlynge sparks were sent
that first did set my fancye on a fyere
before which tyme I knewe nott what itt ment
to burne in love and languishe in desier
But daylie nowe as in your face I see
those graces growe, that maks you more to shine
soo daylie doth new flames aryse in mee
and more and more, Consume this brest off myne
Now are they growen so farr into extreames
that greater rage, with lyefe I may not taste
then doo you nott encrease, in beawties Beames
Excepte you woolde my lymmes to Syndars waste
Yett better tware, that I shoulde peryshe soo
then yow to loose such praise and glory due
althoughe a meane to helpe all this I knowe
yf love with beautye might encrease in yow
Which yff it faile, then love thow wantst devise
that canst not make her Subject to thy Bowe
whose gentle harte was never framde off Ise
althoughe her Breste resemble dryven snowe.