Classic Poem

Haste thee harsh verse as fast as thy lame measure
Will give thee leave, to him, my pain and pleasure.
I have given thee, and yet thou art too weak,
Feet, and a reasoning soul and tongue to speak.
Plead for me, and so by thine and my labour,
I am thy Creator, thou my Saviour.
Tell him, all questions, which men have defended
Both of the place and pains of hell, are ended;
And 'tis decreed our hell is but privation
Of him, at least in this earth's habitation:
And 'tis where I am, where in every street
Infections follow, overtake, and meet:
Live I or die, by you my love is sent,
And you'are my pawns, or else my testament.