Classic Poem

On bended knees low groveling on the ground,
Before the CRUEL FAIRE I prostrate lay:
But what I sought of Her could not be found,
My kinde request was dasht with ruffe Denay.
With me she sharply gan expostulate,
Nor would she once pitie my hard Estate.

Teares I did shed, but teares I shed in vaine;
Vowes I did make, my Vowes she did reject;
Prayers I offred, Prayers she did disdaine;
Presents I sent, but them sh'would not accept.
If teares, vowes, prayers, nor presents can doe good,
What then remaines, but for to offer blood?

Then Cruell take this Blood, Oblations Fee,
Which at thy shrine from Hart I sacrifise:
I know twill doe thee good and liketh thee,
And I bestow it in most hartie wise.
Never so much I of my life did make,
But that I could dispend it for thy sake.

What needst thou then ad water to the Seas,
Beames to the Sunne, or light unto the Day,
When I more readie am, if so thou please,
My selfe to kill, then thou my life to slay?
Ah let me know thy minde, thus vex not still,
A kinde of Pitie tis, quickly to kill.