Classic Poem

A DOIEFUIT PASSION

O H , tyred heart too full of sorrowes,
In night-like daies, despairing morrowes;
How canst thou thinke, so deepely greeued
To hope to liue to be relieued?

Good Fortune hath all grace forsworne thee
And cruell Care hath too much torne thee:
Vnfaithfull friends do all deceiue thee;
Acquaintance all vnkindly leaue thee.

Beauty, out of her booke doth blot thee
And Loue hath vtterly forgot thee:
Patience doth but to passion moue thee
While only Honour liues to loue thee

Thine enemies all ill deuise thee,
Thy friends but little good aduise thee:
And they who most doe duety owe thee,
Doe seeme as though they doe not knowe thee

Thus Pittie weepes to looke vpon thee
To see how thou art woe begon thee;
And while these passions seeke to spill thee
Death but attends the houre to kill thee.

And since no thoughte is comming to thee
That any way may comfort doe thee;
Dispose thy thoughtes as best may please thee
That Heauen of all thy Hell may ease thee.