Classic Poem

Pity, pity, pity,
Pity, pity, pity,
That word begins that ends a true love ditty.
Your blessid eyes, like a pair of suns,
Shine in the sphere of smiling;
Your pretty lips, like a pair of doves,
Are kisses still compiling.
Mercy hangs upon your brow, like a precious jewel;
Oh, let not then,
Most lovely maid, best to be loved of men,
Marble lie upon your heart, that will make you cruel.
Pity, pity, pity,
Pity, pity, pity,
That word begins that ends a true love ditty.