Classic Poem

Faire Dog, which so my heart dost teare asunder,
That my liues-blood, my bowels ouerfloweth,
Alas, what wicked rage conceal'st thou vnder
These sweet enticing ioyes, thy forehead showeth?
Me, whom the light-wing'd God of long hath chased,
Thou hast attain'd, thou gau'st that fatall wound,
Which my soules peacefull innocence hath rased,
And reason to her seruant humour bound.

Kill therefore in the end, and end my anguish,
Give me my death, me thinks euen time vpbraideth
A fulnesse of the woes, wherein I languish:
Or if thou wilt I liue, then pittie pleadeth
Helpe out of thee, since Nature hath reuealed,
That with thy tongue thy bytings may be healed.