Classic Poem

Goe restlesse ghost, tell that proud faire
She was my cause of dyeinge
And if she still seeme coy to heare
Importune her with cryinge.

If angry looks still threaten warr
O then tell natures Jewell
Though angells are less faire by farr
Yett tigers are less cruell.

Say to-those eles that wrought my ill
Heaven that with lustre stor'de them
Never gave them power to kill
The hart that so adord them.

Tell her I come to begg of her
(O be it not prevented)
Uppon my grave to dropp a teare
And I shall rest contented.