Classic Poem

Like to huge clowds of smoke which well may hide
The face of fairest day though for awhile,
Soe wrong may shadow mee, till truth doe smile,
And justice (sun like) hath those vapors tyde,

O doting Time, canst thou for shame lett slide
Soe many minutes while ills doe beguile,
Thy age, and worth, and faulshoods thus defile
Thy ancient good, wher now butt crosses 'bide,

Looke butt once up, and leave thy toyling pace,
And on my myseries thy dimm eye place,
Goe nott soe fast, butt give my care some end,

Turne nott thy glas (alas) unto my ill
Since thou with sand itt canst nott soe farr fill
Butt to each one my sorrows will extend.