Classic Poem

The Heavens their restlesse Sphere doo alwayes move,
In thee doth move the faith which thou didst plight:
And I Ixion like still in my love,
Doo roule, and yet I roule my wheele aright:
So that twixt us continuall motions wend.
But which is worse (unconstant Wench) I see
The Heavens will have their motions without end,
Which (never ceasing) roule continually:
And thou like them to roule doost meane thy fill,
And since tis so, Ile roule too, gainst my will.