Classic Poem

Alba Crudelissima.

Loe here the MONTHS MIND of my deare bought Love,
Which (once a Month) I vowd to memorise,
When first I sought the CRUEL FAIRE to move,
Who alwaies did my sighs and teares despise.
 This must my SABBOTH be, and HOLIDAY,
 On which I (to my Goddesse) use to pray.

This Feast I solemnise for her sweete sake,
(In absence hers) as if she present were,
For my proud CHOICE, who pitie none doth take
On me, that live twixt Hope, despaire and feare.
 (Deare ALBA) then accept this Sacrifice,
 These dutious Teares, the Tribute of mine eyes.

Thinke how perplext fore PICTURE thine I stand;
Thinke of the depth of my sad Passion;
How I have alwaies bin at thy command;
How none but thee my thoughts still muse upon.
 Thinke how I ever tendred thy Good name,
 Conserving with my dearest Blood the same.

Thinke how I still of thee had due respect,
Though thou (at all times) didst me use too hard;
How me withouten cause thou didst reject,
(For my good meaning too too meane reward)
 For all these wrongs which I endured have,
 Ah yet remember me: Nought els I crave.