Classic Poem

Lyve thowe gladly, yff so thowe may:
Pyne thou not in loukynge for me;
Syns that dispayr hathe shut thy wey,
Thoue to see me, or I to see the.

Make thoue a vertu of a constreynte;
Deme no faulte wer non ys wourthy;
Myn ys to muche, what nedes thy playnt?
God he knoythe who ys for me.

Cast apon the Lorde thy cuer,
Prey ounto hym thy cause to urge;
Belyve, and he shall send recur:
Vayne ys all trust of mans refuge.