Classic Poem

Retire from me yow pensive thoughts awhile
decayers of my youthe my strenth and lyvely blood
And lett sweete sleepe my troubled head begile
whilste yow goe bath your selfes in Laehis floode
Or yff nott soo, till I have taken reste
my thoughts goo lodge within my Mistresse breste

Make knowen to her my wounds as yett butt greene
disclose the sparkes nott growen to be a flame
Which tyme its selfe will make to playnely seene
excepte I cloke theis grieffs off myne with game
A readye way to flye nott fynde releefe
for who will rue on hym that hydes his griefe

Therefore my thoughts performe this last requeste
of my true harte a thrall become to love
that She may knowe from whence comes my unreste
as well as I her bewties force doo prove
Then will I hope this happie ende to see
pitty in her, and Joy to raygne in mee
Untill which tyme I vowe to rome about
in desarte woods tyll lyfe with love be spent
Where none but love shall knowe to fynd me oute
nor love himselfe, but from my mistres sent
For whose sweete sake to shewe on me her power
my weale for woe, my sweet I change for sowre.

And more then that for though through her disdaine
She chaunce to clyppe the wyngs off my desire
And of my hope throwe oute the latter mayne
and force with shame my fansies to retyre
Yett shall my love not ende with losse of breathe
for thow my Soule shalte serve her after deathe