Classic Poem

Since that the date drawes on
that muste my Joyes bereave
Then give me leave to leave theis lynes
where I my harte muste leave
And lycence me withall
(whereon to thynke I rue)
Althoughe I never write againe
to geve this laste adewe
But were I so much bleste
even then to ende all stryfe
When I my fainte farewell pronounce
to bydd farewell my lyfe
Then woulde I thinke the fates
to me poore Sowle a frynde
Yf by one wishede welcome deathe
tenn thowsande woes might ende
But since my weary ghoste
thow needes muste yett survyve
Retaine with the these fellowe mates
whilste thow remaynste alyve
Deepe cares, and trobled thoughts
with sorrowes of the mynde
Dispayres vaine hopes and each dysgrace
that haples men may fynde
Dislykes and loathsome lyfe
a death styll to renewe
Companions all to be with me
and none for me butt yow
And as for all delights
that unto yowth pertayne
Both I will them, and they shall me:
foregett, foresake, disdayne.
For yf one pleasinge thought,
but yeelde to me releefe,
I will in thinkinge thereon make
my pleasures paste my griefe
But as for my pore harte
that is become unkinde
In my distresse to leave me this
and staye with yow behynde
This will I thinke off hym
which needes confesse yow muste
That he a traytor is to mee
butt unto yow moste juste
But since he is so bente
I will therto agree
So he remayne where I love beste
and wishe my selfe to bee
Where yff he yll deserve
lett rygore then bee showene
Butt yf yow fynde hym juste, vouchafe
to coumpte hym as your owne
Oh woolde to god yow woolde
of hyme take perfecte veywe
Then shoulde yow sone beleve and see
which nowe is straunge to yow
Your name therein engraved
your lookes donne to the lyfe
Your frindely cheare your haught disdaine
and all your statelye strieffe
My loyalltye lykewise
there playnly to be seene
My deedly panges, my bloody dropps
my woundes as yett butt greene
Then synce for yow itt ys
he doth such torments prove
Do but by hym as by your owne
yff yours so much dyd love
Butt why oh love dydste thow
in me soo deeply grave
That portracte which of force I finde
I muste both want, and crave;
For since that such my fate
to the before was knowne
Thow shouldste have bounde theis eyes of myne
as thow haste donne thyne owne.
Oh blynde and cruell Boye
that to my sight haste broughte
The perfects[t] shape that ever yett
within this worlde was wrought
For from those onely Eyes
dyd all my sorrowes growe
And yett a favoure dydste thow me
that face to make me knowe
For truly to confesse
to see but her sweet cheare
Is so much worth as for the worthe
cannott be bought to deare,
And leaver woolde I love
(althoughe in vaine that face)
Then to engayge els where my love
though sure to purchase grace
Yett what mighte bee the cause
in her I fayne woolde knowe
That thus doth robb men of their harts
and reave theyr freedome soe
Is ytt that witt devyne,
lent her from out the skies
Or els those gladsome beames that shine
from oute those pleasynge Eyes
Or els that pondred speche
that melts the prowedest mynde
Or els that grace and gestur brave
that shewes the lyons kinde
Or els that Stately growth,
and beawtye free from blame
Which causeth love hym selfe for love
of her to burne and flame
By her Empyringe lookes
he doth his conquests gayne
Of her his mighte and force hee holdes
butt in her cannot rayne
To her hee dayly doth
Idolatrye commytt
And taken hath my humble harte
and sacryfysed ytt
Butt what speake I the prayse
that in her dothe abounde
Who with the turnynge of her Eye
can comeforte and confounde
As all the lyghtes off heavene
are duskede by the Sonne
So where Shee comes from all the reste
shee hath the glorye wonne
But with how greate a gryefe
to mynd doe I ytt call
That muste from such sweete pleasures parte
and nowe foregoe them all
What god with pittye movede
will lysten to my mone
And nowe vouchafe me to transforme
into some Rocke or stone
Not that I woold want sence,
so to bee free from payne
Butt that I might contynuallye
in her sweete syght remayne
From whence some destenye,
my mynde awaye doth slocke
Even as the wolfe by force doth reave
the lambe from owt the flocke
Yett sone I woulde pervertte,
that fates have me decreede
Yff in your face I coulde butt see
some hope of my good speed
Which though I may nott fynde
yet am I free from blame
Though nott from woes, nor woolde I bee
yf yow desyre the same
For be yow this assurde
that naught can me displease
That yow can aske and wish in mynde
to yealde your fancye ease
Yett when that I am gone
and layde perchaunce in grave
Say this for me, such truth desarvde
some better happe to have
Or yf to my more harme,
I twise alonger twyne
Vouchafe sometymes to thinke how I
in heavye plyght doo pyne
And when some sullen moode
doth cause yow sytt alone
Thinke this, so doth my Servaunt nowe
in Corners make his moone
Or when yow take your glasse
theron to looke and prye
Which cannott halfe so well bewraye
your bewtyes force as I
Allthoughe yow say not soe
when yow your shape have vyewed
Yett thinke in deed there was some cause
why I was so subdued
This sondry meanes yow have,
how to remember mee
In every place where yow shall come
by sights that yow shall see
When yow doo walke the fieldes
with pleasaunte collours dighte
Then call to mynde that yow have seene
mee, so in youthely plyghte
And as yow loath those fieldes
when winter hath them worne
So thinke that I with sorrowes nypte
have all my Joyes in scorne
And when yow see the springes
that frome the earthe doo ryse
Yow may compare them to the teares
that flowe from oute myn eyes
Or as the sommers heate
or winters coulde yow trye
So hoate desyre and colde dyspaire
my bones both freze and frye
Butt lastely when darke nyghte
the earthe doth over runne
So say that I in darkenes lyve
when I have loste my Sunne
This yf yow will vouchafe
to doo at my desire
Althoughe my happe be over harde
yett shall my hope aspire
And for I knowe nott els
how to requyte the same
Uppon the trees I will recorde
and grave your worthy name
And as those trees doo growe
and spreade your name lykewise
So will I wishe with my laste breathe
your honor maye aryse
This farewell woordes and lookes
so sweete and so unkynde
Farewell the onely paradyse
to please a lovinge mynde
And farewell worthy one,
to whom my faythe is knowne
And yff I dye the losse ys yours
to loose that ys your owne.