Classic Poem

Still so obdurate, hast thou vowed to liue
still in contempt of mee, whose chaste thoughts giue
their burden to thy view? twixt euery line
conceiue a sighe, but would that make thee mine
Ide sighe so oft, so deepe, that who soere
should heare me, should suppose my whole life were
but one continuate breath; Ide turne to ayre
so I might hover about thee my faire,
and fanne thy Rosy Cheeke, and now and then
steale a soft kisse from't, and retire againe,
but by and by I should presume to sippe
ravishing sweetnesse from thy scarlett lipp;
would weeping winne thee, I would practise it
till thou shouldst thinke each line thou readst were writt
with dropps of eye-brine. I haue in my eyes
a spring, which as it wastes still multiplyes;
Ide weepe till I became all but one teare,
then turne into a pearle, so thou wouldst weare
me in thy eye, pearles hurt the sight they say[;]
I would not thine my faire, but rather pray
To Loues great Deity, and neuer cease
till thou wert brought in loue with thy disease;
I would be sighe, teare, any thing that might
come but so neere thee, as thy touch or sight;
nay lesse, I would be nothing, could I proue
after my change that thou wouldst nothing loue;
Then I whom now the world doth something call
in being nothing, should be all in all.