Classic Poem

While Thracians shal with arrowes war, Iaziges with bowe:
While Ganges shalbe luke warme felt, and Ister colde as snowe.
While mountaines hye great trees shal bear, in fields while grasse shal grow:
While Tibris shal through Tuscan land with any water flow.
I wyl make warres with thee, not death shall bryng my wrath to ende:
But wyll geve weapons to my ghostes against thy sprytes to sende.
And then also when into ayre, my selfe shall turned be:
My lyvelesse shadow shall with hate, pursue the gostes of thee.
Then also myndefull of thy deedes, I wyll thy shadowes chase:
And I a bony forme wylbe, with thee in every place.
Whether I by yeares consumed long (which I would not) shall dye:
Or else shalbe by force of hand resolved by and by.
Or whether tost amyd the Seas, shall suffer wrack with greefe:
And Fyshes strange upon my corse, shall seeke to fynde releefe.
Or whether that the Ravens shall, make of my fleshe theire foode:
Or greedy Wolves shal have their lyps embrewed with my blood.
Or whether some may wel vouchsafe, me under ground to laye:
Or cast me into flaming fyre, when lyfe is gone away.
What so I bee, I mynde to come from Hell, that ugly place:
And then with colde (revenging) hands, wyll scratch thee by the face.
Thou waking shalt me see, with gostes, my selfe Ile secret keepe:
Then wyll I seeme t'appeare to thee, to wake thee from thy sleepe.