Classic Poem

All day I weepe my wearie woes,
Then when that night approcheth neere,
And euery one his eies doth close,
And passed paines no more appeere,
I change my cheere,

And in the weepings of mine eie,
Loue bathes his wings, and from my hart
Drawes fire his furie to supplie,
And on my bones doth whet his dart:
Oh bitter smart

My sighes within their clouds obscure,
Would blinde mine eies, they might not see,
Those cruell pleasant lamps that lure:
My reason faine would set me free,
Which may not be.

The dried strawe will take the fire;
The trained brache will follow game:
The idle thought doth still desire:
Fond will is hardly brought in frame:
The more my blame.

Thus see I how the stormes doe growe,
And yet the paine I still approoue:
I leaue my weale, I follow woe,
I see the rocke, yet nill remooue:
Oh flie me Loue:

Then midst the stormes I shall preuent,
And by foresight my troubles cease:
And by my reason shun repent;
Thus shall I ioye, if Loue decrease:
And liue in peace.