Classic Poem

Glide gentle streams, and beare
Along with you my teare
To that coy Girle;
Who smiles, yet slayes
Me with delayes;
And strings my tears as Pearle.

See! see she's yonder set,
Making a Carkanet
Of Maiden-flowers!
There, there present
This Orient,
And Pendant Pearle of ours.

Then say, I've sent one more
Jem to enrich her store;
And that is all
Which I can send,
Or vainly spend,
For tears no more will fall.

Nor will I seek supply
Of them, the spring's once drie;
But Ile devise,
(Among the rest)
A way that's best
How I may save mine eyes.

Yet say; sho'd she condemne
Me to surrender them;
Then say; my part
Must be to weep
Out them, to keep
A poore, yet loving heart.

Say too, She wo'd have this;
She shall: Then my hope is,
That when I'm poore,
And nothing have
To send, or save;
I'm sure she'll ask no more.