Classic Poem

Since spightfull Fortune (sore against my will)
Hath drawne me farre from place where thou dost live:
And that of force I must obey her still,
(Although to live so doth me deadly grieve)
Yet though my Bodie is farre off, MY HART
Is still with thee, from whence it nere shall part.

Only of thee (sweete Ladie) this I crave,
That till our thred of life shall be unspun,
Thou wilt vouchsafe me in thy minde to have,
And not forget the Love twixt us begun.
But in thy Hart the same for to repose,
As I (the like) in inward soule doe close.

This only can (still) me in life conserve,
Thy gracious Favour and thy Pitie sweete:
This is the pretious Balme, the pure Preserve,
Which I doe hope to finde, and still will seeke:
This makes me live, although with great unrest,
Since of thy selfe I have bin dispossest.

Thou art my Hope, my Haven, my Comfort chiefe,
On thee alone, on none els I relie:
Only to thee I come to begge reliefe;
In thee it is if I shall live or die.
(DEAREST) remember tis a Gift more rare,
CONSTANT to be, then to be counted FAIRE.