Classic Poem

Goe, wayling verse, the Infants of my love,
Minerva -lyke, brought foorth without a mother:
Present the Image of the cares I prove,
Witnes your Father's griefe exceedes all other
Sigh out a story of her cruell deedes,
With interrupted accents of dispaire:
A monument that whosoever reedes,
May justly praise, and blame my loveless Fayre
Say her disdaine hath dryed up my blood,
And starved you, in succours still denying:
Presse to her eyes, importune me some good;
Waken her sleeping pitty with your crying.
Knock at her hard hart, beg till you have mov'd her,
And tell th'unkind, how deerely I have lov'd her