Classic Poem

Then doe I loue, and draw this wearie breath,
For her the cruell Faire, within whose brow
I written finde the sentence of my death,
In vnkinde Letters; wrote she cares not how.
Thou powre that rul'st the confines of the night,
Laughter louing Goddesse, worldly pleasures Queene,
Intenerat that heart that sets so light,
The truest loue that euer yet was seene.
And cause her leaue to triumph in this wise,
Vpon the prostrate spoyle of that poore hart
That serues a Trophey to her conquering eies,
And must their glory to the world impart.
Once let her know, sh'hath done enough to proue me,
And let her pitte if she cannot loue me.