Classic Poem

Those ebbon windowes sweete, those cheerfull eyes,
Where LOVE (at LAWGH and sweete looke on) doth play,
Are on the sudden changde in strangie wise,
And do Disdaines Ensigne (gainst me) display:
Darke now they seeme, and sower, ore passing bad,
Making my life seeme to me black and sad.

Those cheerfull eyes, which wont to comfort me,
And to mine hungrie soule yeeld nourishment,
Denie me food, nor will they pleased be,
But mew me up, as starveling closely pent.
My walks I usde, which faire and easie were,
Are stopt with blood-drawing brambles every where.

My crased hart thus skorned for his Love,
And plagude with proud disdaine and sdainfull Pride,
Wailes so as would a Rock (though flintie) move:
Nor better course hath this Disgrace to bide,
Then sighs and Teares, which forth he sends apace,
And (damned like) still begs, but nere finds grace.

Sweet stay of my weake tottring life nie falne,
Balme to my wounds, and Cordiall to my griefe,
Light to my darknes, to my storme, milde Calme,
Ease to my paine, and to my want, Reliefe.
Ah who hath now (and that so suddenly)
Of pitie thee depriv'd, to make me die?