Classic Poem

Amintas, now at last
Thou art reuenged of all my rigour past;
The scorning of thee, softnesse of thy hart,
Thy longings, causefull teares,
Doe double griefe each day to mee impart.
I am not what I was,
And in my miseries I thyne doe glasse;
Ah! now in perfect yeares,
E'r reason could my comming harmes descrie,
Made loue's fond taper flie.
I burne mee thinkes in sweet and fragrant flame.
Aske mee noe more: tongue hide thy mistres' shame.