Classic Poem

Weep not Lucindæ, 'lesse you meane
To purge the world from filth, as cleane
As are your thoughts: too rich a prize
For earth, is such a sacrifice.

Such tears as yours, suppose young May
Does to the flowers each morning pay.
Such tears must sure all eyes intice
To think your Eyes Loves Paradice.

Oh ! they have emptied Natures Store,
Made Snow, and emulous Chrystall poore:
Your tears may justly claim pretence
To be the balme of Innocence.

But least such Gemmes should be confin'd
To earth ; behold the amorous wind
Catching them, fixes every one
In heaven, a Constellation.

But since (my dearest) thou wilt weep,
Thy tears for holyer uses keep ;
When plagues upon the earth are hurld,
Let fall one drop, 'twill save the world.