Classic Poem

Such as do liggen in Delight and joy,
And have what Hart can wish, or Thought devise,
Spending their time withouten dire Annoy,
Living amongst their friends in jocund wise,
 And who with Love of Ladies theirs are blest,
 May in Eternam Requiem , happie rest.

Me, sillie Travailer (a pilgrim poore)
(Who through hard hap these blessings all do misse)
Care doth become, since want I do endure
Of Countrie, Friends, and Love, my chiefest blisse:
 And yet this CARE not Ill, but well, with mee,
 Observing still Decorum doth agree.

A Travailer, farre from his Native coast,
With Care doth rise, with Care him downe doth lay:
And though from piller tost he be to poste,
When All him leave, yet Care with him doth stay.
 Not like vaine pleasure, who away doth peake,
 When he his Bark through want perceives to leake.

Thanks then to Care, of Poore the comfort chiefe,
The best companion that we Strangers finde,
In Countries strange forlorne, without reliefe,
Who quiet, gentle, patient is and kinde.
 Then constant CARE, not Comfort I do crave,
 And (might I chuse) I CARE with L. would have.