Classic Poem

Ah ALBA faire, ah me unfortunate!
Ah that my Birth's so low, my Thoughts so hie,
My due Desires so great, so poore my state,
As not to joy my Right, deservinglie!
 How might I please thee, thee for to possesse?
 With how great will would I my selfe addresse?

Will Labours patient of Extremities,
Obtaine the favour of thy long sought Love?
I will attempt, if so thou but devise,
Monsters to tame, and Mountaines to remove:
  Alcides like, all things I will subdue,
 So I may finde thee gracious when I sue.

Dost thou the passions of deep Love desire?
The sad despayring moode of perplext minde,
The nere exprest (through hidden torments) Fire
Of racked Thoughts? dost covet this to finde?
 Mark my deep sighs, my hollow eyes, salt teares,
 My broken sleepes, my heavy countnance beares.

Wouldst thou I to thy Beautie vowde should bee?
And in thy service spend my long lifes time?
Remember then my solitaire life for thee,
This seven whole yeares (a Prentiship of mine)
 Tis true (thou knowst) where ere thou (now) remaine,
 Then be appeasde, and pleasde to ease my paine.