Classic Poem

To touch on Sylla , yet to scape the same,
And yet be drowned in the Hauens mouth,
Is of all griefes the great'st, and greatest blame
To Fortune , or Discretion, Paines , or Slouth
But I, that scapt the Gulphe and Rock of Wrack,
(Which in the Ocean of my boundlesse loue
I found to draw me on, and put me back)
Am like, in my Hopes Haun, the like to prooue;
For when I hopt I had Thee as myne owne
(O too too credulous!) am like t' lose
That loue, by which for mine, thou long wast knowne,
Through winds of misreport, which Enuie bloes: —
But, if these bitter blasts thee from me beare,
My Hopes sinke, causelesse, where there was no feare.