Classic Poem

Oh eies, leave of your weepinge,
Loue hath the thoughtes in keepinge
That maie content yee;
Let not this misconceivinge
Where comfortes are receyving
Causles torment yee

Clowdes threaten but a showre
Hope hath his happie howre
Thoughe longe in lastinge:
Time nedes must be attended
Loue must not be offended
With to muche hastinge

Yitt oh the painefull pleasure,
Wher loue attendes the leizure
Of loves wretehednes;
Where hope is but illusion
And feare but a confusion
Of loues happines.

Yitt happie hope that seeth
Howe loue and life agreeth
Of life depriue me;
Or let me be assurèd,
When life hath death endurèd
Loue will revive me.

But if I be that louer
That neuer shall recouer
But spight shall spill me.
Then let thus much suffize me
That heavnes this death deuise me
That loue shulde kill me.