Classic Poem

Harte, written by a Gentleman unto his Mistresse
T O reade a dolefull tale,
that tels of nought but greefe,
And of a man that pines in paine
and lookes for no-releefe;
Whose hope of death seems sweet.
& dread of life seems sower,
Who neuer bid on[e] merry month,
one weeke one day or hower
In such a tale, I say,
if any doe delight,
Let him come read this verse of mine
that heer for troth I wright.
And though the speech seeme darke
the matter shall be plaine:
And he, poore wretch, of whom it treats
too wel doth feele the paine.