Classic Poem

What man on earth doth lyve like me
Yff I hadd power to tell
My fancye to the heaven doth flee
My favour falls to hell.

The dropps of sweete wheron I praye
So sauuste with streemes of sower
As yeelds a deadly dyinge Daye
For every lyvynge howere.

I am the very marke assygnde
To suffer fortunes spighte
I onely Joye to thinke in mynde
When death will clayme his righte.

My carefull frindes woolde gladly frame
Some salve to ease my Sore
Butt all such handes as touche the same
Doo venome itt the more.

Achilles pearcinge launc coulde cure
Wheras ytt gave a wounde
But off the griefe that I endure
The cause cannott bee fownde.

Lyke as into the Occean Seas
The Course off Rivers bee
Even so the fates theyr humour please
To power all plauges on me.

What frowarde Planett fraught with Ire
Createde me for lorne
What spightfull tongue firste tolde my Sire
That he a Sonne hadd borne.