Classic Poem

If Beauty thus be clowded with a frowne,
That pitty shines no comfort to my blis,
And vapours of disdaine so over-growne
That my live's light thus wholy darkned is,
Why should I more molest the world with cryes,
The ayre with sighes, the earth below with teares,
Sith I live hatefull to those ruthlesse eyes,
Vexing with untun'd moane her dainty eares?
If I have lov'd her deerer then my breath,
My breath that calls the heavens to witnes it,
And still must holde her deere till after death,
And if that all this cannot move a whit,
Yet let her say that she hath done me wrong
To use me thus and know I lov'd so long.