Classic Poem

In night yett may wee see some kind of light
When as the Moone doth please to show her face,
And in the sunns roome yeelds her light, and grace
Which otherwise must suffer dullest night,

Soe ar my fortunes, bard from true delight
Colde, and unsertaine, like to this strang place,
Decreasing, changing in an instant space,
And even att full of joy turn'd to despite;

Justly on Fortune was beestow'd the wheele
Whose favors ficle, and unconstant reele;
Drunk with delight of chang, and sodaine paine;

Wher pleasure hath noe settled place of stay
Butt turning still for our best hopes decay,
And this (alas) wee lovers often gaine.