Classic Poem

Unhappie ghost go waile thy griefe below
Where never soule but endlesse horror sees,
Dismaske thy mind amongst the mirtle trees,
Which here I fsee thou art asham'd to show;
This breath that such a fierie breath doth blow,
Must have of force some flood those flames to freeze.
And o that drowsie Lethe best agrees,
To quench these evils that come, because I know
Since the whom I have harbour'd in my heart,
Will grant me now no portion of her mind,
I die content, because she lives unkind,
And suffers one whom once grac'd to smart:
But I lament that I have liv'd so long,
Left blaming her, I ere I die do wrong.