Classic Poem

Mine eyes, dissolue your globes in brinie streames,
And with a cloud of sorrow dimme your sight;
The sunne's bright sunne is set, of late whose beames
Gaue luster to your day, day to your night.
My voyce, now deafen earth with anatheames,
Roare foorth a challenge in the world's despight,
Tell that disguised griefe is her delight,
That life a slumber is of fearfull dreames.
And, woefull minde, abhorre to thinke of ioy,
My senses all now comfortlesse you hide,
Accept no object but of black annoy,
Teares, plaints, sighs, mourning weeds, graues gaping wide.
I haue nought left to wish, my hopes are dead,
And all with her beneath a marble laide.