Classic Poem

Lady farwell whom I in Sylence serve
Wold god thou knewste the depth of my desire,
Then might I hope, thoughe nought I can deserve,
Som drop of grace, wold quench my scorchyng fyre.
But as to Love unknowne I have decreed,
So spare to speake doth often spare to speed.

Yett better twere that I in woe should waste
Then sue for Grace and Pyty in Despighte
And though I see in thee such pleasures plaste
That feedes my Joy and breedes my cheef delyghte,
Wythall I see a chast Con[t]entt Dysdayne
Theyr Suytes, whych seke to wyn thy wyll ageane.

Then farewell Hope, a Hellpe to each mans Harme
The wynde of woe, hath torne my Tree of Truste,
Care Quenchde the Coales, whych did my Fancy warme,
And all my Hellp Lyes buryed in the Duste.
But yett amonges those Cares which Crosse my Rest.
Thys Commfort Growes, I thynke I Love thee Best.