Classic Poem

Fly hence O! joy noe longer heere abide
Too great thy pleasures ar for my dispaire
To looke on, losses now must prove my fare
Who nott long since, on better foode relide;

Butt foole, how oft had I heavns changing spide
Beefore of mine owne fate I could have care,
Yett now past time, I can too late beeware
When nothing's left butt sorrowes faster tyde;

While I injoy'd that sunn whose sight did lend
Mee joy, I thought, that day, could have noe end
Butt soone a night came cloth'd in absence darke,

Absence more sad, more bitter then is gall
Or death, when on true lovers itt doth fall
Whose fires of love, disdaine rests poorer sparke.