Classic Poem

Why have the Heavens thus changed mine Estate?
Deserving well to complot my Decay?
Why rather was not so ordainde my fate,
That ALBA nere should wend rom me away?
I never changing my first vowed Love,
Why should (unconstant she) from me remove?

(Fond man) is she unconstant to be calde,
Who after course of world doth runne her race?
Are not all men by fortune puld and halde,
Never to bide (still) in one certaine place?
Nothing is more commended in the Sea,
Then th'often Ebbings, and the Flowings bee.

Ah ALBA, if thou shouldst continue still
In one selfe place, t'would be a Paradise:
But thou (t'allay our proud Affections will)
T'eclipse thine owne perfections dost devise,
Thinking it is enough, if but with eye
We joy a small glimse of thy Majestie.

Then to encrease our Griefes, thou dost decrease
Our pleasures, and thy selfe from us dost hide,
When we for nothing lookt but peace and ease,
Even at thy Best, and in thy Beauties pride.
But why talke I, where I cannot be hard?
Or heard she me, she would not me regard.