Classic Poem

Farewell; nay, ill still maist thou fare,
That art the roote of all my Care,
Thou fiery Frost, thou freezing payne,
Thou gentle Wolfe, thou Tyger tame,
Thou heavy Burthen, light to beare,
Thou Vertue fraught with Vice each where,
Thou Griefe still well, yet ne'er at ease,
Thou warre-like Truce, thou fighting Peace,
Thou Safetie set in feare and dread,
Thou Famine which art alwayes fed;
 Ill come to thee, that didst prepare
 The Willow-Garland for my share.

May never pleasure follow thee,
But alwayes heavy maist thou be,
Let Sorrow ever be thy Song,
And Welladay thy Burthen long:
The Day bring unto thee no Joy,
The Night breede in thee Griefe and Noy:
No rest by Sunne maist ever have,
Nor sleepe by Moone, of Gods I crave,
Thy Life in Anguish, lead, and Care,
And on thee let attend Despayre.
 With Willow-Garland and sharpe Knife,
 To give thee for to end thy Life.

Thy Colour fade, thy Beauty dye,
Let (All) disdayne thee for to eye,
Forlorne, forsaken up and downe
Wander maist thou, from Towne to Towne;
Long leade thy life in payne and woe,
And like a Beggar maist thou goe
Withouten Food, or Friend, or Coyne,
From dore to dore; so maist thou pine:
A Wonder I thee wish to bee,
For every one that shall thee see:
 That gav'st unto thy Lover true
 The Willow-Garlands deadly hew.

Let Worme of Conscience gnaw thy Brest,
And suffer th ee to take no rest;
Let fearefull Dreames thee still affright,
With frightfull Visions 'fore thy sight;
And when thou walk'st in darke alone,
Let Ghosts appeare and (gastly) grone.
No day but thou I wish maist see,
The horred'st Shadowes that may be;
Thy evill Angell with thee wend,
The more to make thee to offend:
 A Willow-Garland weare in signe,
 That thou hast past thy happiest line.

Be thou a Lazar foule in sight,
To clap thy Dish as CRESSID light:
And oh, maist thou leade such a life,
As whilome did SHORES wretched Wife,
Or end thy dayes like ROSAMOND,
Who (burst with poyson) dead was found:
Or worser death, if worse may be,
With shame and griefe soone light on thee,
And since to pray I now am bound,
A P——of God thee (straight) confound,
 And all such Flirts as make men prove
 The Willow-Garland for their Love.

Thus have I sent to thee my minde,
And say I deale with thee o'er kinde,
Thou knowest, (if so I list) full well
Worse I could speake, and farre worse tell:
I have but shadowed thee as yet,
Not paynted thee, as was most fit:
No Venime this, but Gall most plaine,
The Poyson doth behinde remayne:
Thinke then, I use thee gentlely,
Since I have dealt so modestly;
 And thinke that what I did endite,
 The Willow-Garland forc't mee write.

Yet I confesse I doe thee wrong,
That I have troubled thee so long;
But pardon mee (this once) therefore,
Hence forth I will doe so no more:
Yet when I shall home backe returne,
And finde thee from thy Hart to mourne,
And that thou hast beene offered wrong,
I then (perhaps) may change my Song,
For now no time I have to stay,
Our Ships are launching forth their way,
 The Willow-Garland thou maist see,
 On top of Sayle doth call for mee.

Then leave Entreating, Oathes and Teares,
Thy Sighes and Sorrowes (fayned Feares)
For what I purpose in my Minde,
I will not change (as thou) like winde,
It shall suffice, that I to thee
Was true, though thou wert false to mee,
Ile (as I may) my Griefes disiest,
They (secretly) in Heart shall rest,
Ile say it was thy Destinie,
(Not thou) that forc't thee rove awry.
 The WILLOW GARLAND bids Adiew,
 To Mistresse false, to Master true.
Thine owne once , R.M.
De Mortuis nil, nisi bonum.