Classic Poem

His late losse the Wiveless Higs in order
Ev'rywere bewailes to friends, to strangers;
Tels them how by night a yongster armed
Saught his Wife (as hand in hand he held her)
With drawne sword to force; she cryed; he mainely
Roring ran for ayde, but (ah) returning
Fled was with the prize the beawty-forcer,
Whome in vaine he seeks, he threats, he followes.
Chang'd is Hellen, Hellen hugs the stranger,
Safe as Paris in the Greeke triumphing.
Therewith his reports to teares he turneth,
Peirst through with the lovely Dames remembrance;
Straight he sighes, he raves, his haire he teareth,
Forcing pitty still by fresh lamenting.
Cease, unworthy, worthy of thy fortunes,
Thou that couldst so faire a prize deliver,
For feare unregarded, undefended,
Hadst no heart I thinke, I know no liver.