Classic Poem

Oh! had I died when death was so expected,
It had not seem'd so grieuous far (alasse)
For while I stood at vnder and deiected,
Bearing the burden of a sad disgrace,
I would haue thought he pittied had my case,
Who had me kil'd in such a wofull plight,
" For death, in sorrow and despaire, seemes light.

But fortune false, her fury to fulfill,
Reseru'd me then to a more wretched end,
As to make him the author of my ill,
Who from all euils did euer me defend;
But pardon me deere friend if I offend,
In counting thee a partner of my wrack,
Since death seemes grieuous which from thee I take.

Scarse haue I dream'd yet of that matchlesse pitty,
Which vndeseru'd you did extend to me,
When in the ruines of this sacked cittie,
Thou did preserue my wished liberty,
And which is more, vouchsafst me then to be,
Thy blist and happy, now curst haplesse bride,
Since this sad potion must our loues deuide.

How can I but regrate, complaine and moane,
When scarcely yet I haue begun to taste
Those speachlesse pleasures that attend vpon
The sweete fruition of a Nuptiall feast,
Where sacred Hymen should be chiefest guest,
Sweete Madrigalls, and blessed hymnes be sung,
And no sad toales of buriall-bells be rung.

Oh let them iudge, who with delight a ioy,
Haue felt the pleasures of sweet wedlocks bed,
What griefe, what care, what sorrow, what annoy,
It's to forsake the same ere it be had!
Thus onely this, and nothing else thats said,
Makes me to hate this wofull gift of thine,
Which otherwise seemes a most blest propine.

But what, O loue! and must thy passions be
So powerfull in my soule, that they must mooue
Mee to accuse him of seueritie,
Who in his actions al, most kinde doth prooue?
No, rather farre detested be all loue,
Or it enforce me in a thought to fall,
To him I honor'd aye, and euer shall.

Sweete Massinissa , courteous, gentle, kinde,
That you are so, ile seale it with my bloud,
Nothing torments so much my dying minde,
Thou wast not in my better fortunes lou'd,
And O that thou, if fates had thought it good,
Had cropt the blossomes of my beauties prime,
Which now you scarce haue tasted out of time.

This, this it is, breeds my eternall smart,
That in the desolation of my glory,
My wayning beauty did surprise thy heart,
Deare Lord, this makes thy dying spouse most sorry,
To thinke that she must be the wofull story,
A registred remarkeable mischiefe,
Whose loue had birth and buriall both in griefe.

That you are guiltlesse of my haplesse death,
I both attest the heauens and spirits aboue,
In witnesse whereof heere I do bequeath,
My heart to thee, in token of our loue,
From hence no amorous motion shall me mooue:
Farewell therefore, to life, to loue, and thee,
True witnesses of deare bought liberty.

Goe wanton Cupid , sport thee with thy mother,
In some more happy climate then is ours,
Here thou and Death will ne're agree together,
He likes the Graues, and thou the reuelling Boures,
Lasciuious Rome with her skie-mounting towers,
As Empresse of all kingdomes and Empires,
Seemes fittest place for fuell to thy fires.