Classic Poem

If beauty thus be clowded with a frowne,
That pitty shines no comfort to my blis,
And vapours of disdaine so ouergrowne
That my liues light wholy in-darkned is.
Why should I more molest the world with cries?
The ayre with sighes, the earth below with teares?
Sith I liue hatefull to those ruthlesse eies,
Vexing with vntun'd moane her dainty eares.
If I haue lou'd her dearer then my breath,
My breath that calls the heauens to witnes it:
And still must hold her deare till after death,
And that all this mooues not her thoughts a whit,
Yet sure she cannot but must thinke a part,
She doth me wrong, to grieue so true a heart.