Classic Poem

Tell me when shall these wearie woes have end,
Or shall their ruthlesse torment never cease:
But al my dayes in pining languor spend,
Without hope of aswagement or release.
Is there no meanes for me to purchace peace,
Or make agreement with her thrilling eyes:
But that their cruelty doth still increace,
And dayly more augment my miseryes.
But when ye have shewed all extremityes,
Then thinke how litle glory ye have gayned:
By slaying him, whose lyfe though ye despyse,
Mote have your life in honour long maintayned.
But by his death which some perhaps will mone,
Ye shall condemned be of many a one.