Classic Poem

Heart drops distilling like a new cut-vine
Weepe for the paines that doe my soule oppresse,
Eyes doe no lesse
For if you weepe not, be not mine,
Silly woes that cannot twine
An equall griefe in such excesse.

You first in sorrow did begin the act,
You saw and were the instruments of woe,
To let me know
That parting would procure the fact
Wherewith young hopes in bud are wrackt,
Yet deerer eyes the rock must show.

Which never weepe, but killingly disclose
Plagues, famine, murder in the fullest store,
But threaten more.
This knowledge cloyes my brest with woes
T'avoid offence my heart still chose
Yet faild, and pity doth implore.