Classic Poem

My carefull case, and pensiue pyning plight,
Constraynth my Pen, against my will to wright:
The plunged state, wherein I lyue and dwell,
Doth force me forth, my dolefull tale to tell.

My heaped woes, all solace sets asyde,
Whose secret smarte (alas) I faine would hyde,
But as the subiect Oxe, to yoke must yeelde,
So vanquisht wightes, are forste forsake the feelde.

My lucklesse lotte, denies me all releife,
I seeke for helpe, but finde increase of griefe.
I languishe still, in long and deepe dispaire,
Yet shunne to shewe the cause of this my care.

I couet nought, that reason might denye,
Ne doe I seeke by meanes to mounte on hye:
But what I seeke, if I the same might finde,
Then easde should be, mine vncontented mynde.