Classic Poem

O stay mine eyes, shed nott thes fruitles teares
Since hope is past to winn you back againe
That treasure which beeing lost breeds all your paine,
Cease from this poore betraying of your feares,

Think this too childish is, for wher griefe reares
Soe high a powre, for such a wreched gaine;
Sighs, nor laments should thus bee spent in vaine:
True sorrow, never outward wayling beares;

Bee rul'd by mee, keepe all the rest in store,
Till noe roome is that may containe one more,
Then in that sea of teares, drowne haples mee,

And I'le provide such store of sighs as part
Shalbee enough to breake the strongest hart,
This dunn, wee shall from torments freed bee.