Classic Poem

So great a griefe did never pearce the Hart,
Of any loving Mother over kinde,
When she her only sonne readie to part,
Doth see to forraine Countrie gainst her minde,
 Losing the staffe of her old Age and stay,
 On whom the Hope of all her Comfort lay;

As wofull I, when I those lovely Eyes
Saw to looke back, which I should see no more
Of many daies, and when in pitious wise,
They shewd by signes our parting griev'd them sore.
 Ah when her last looke back on me she cast,
 Then, then, I thought I should have breath'd my last.

Yet for my Harts sake did my spirits revive,
And life once more recovered they againe,
Whilst staring after her I kept alive,
And thought that I (not seeing her) saw her plaine.
 Long time my Powers were got into my sight,
 Deluding me with pleasing false Delight.

But now that her rare Beautie lives els where,
Ile waile with teares her Absence, (my Disgrace)
With weeping I my sight away will weare,
Which skornes to looke on any but that Face.
 Eyes be Recluses , you can weep no more,
 And (Hart) since She is gone, weep bloody gore.