Classic Poem

The more I striue, the stronger is my thrall,
The stronger thrall, the weaker still mine ayde:
The weaker ayde, the greater griefe doth fall,
The greater griefe, the more with doubt dismayde.

Where lyfe I reache, there dollor biddes me die,
In sweetest soyle, I straine the greatest Snake:
My cares increase, when comfort drawes most nie,
From dainty pray, I pearsing poyson take.

Still pynde in colde, I parched am with heate,
As fyre I flye, vpon the flame I runne:
In swelting gleames, my chylly corps I beate,
Congealde to Ice, where shynes the cleerest sunne.
Loe thus I lyue, and lyuing thus I dye,
Drownde in dispayre, with hope aduaunced hye.