Classic Poem

Pray, gentle sirs, of whom old poets tell,
Nobles and knights that lived in days of yore:
What have ye gained since ye your souls did sell
That ye of earthly pleasure might know more?
What doth it profit ye on styx's shore
To know that here ye gloried for a spell?
Fain would we learn since ye have gone before
How passeth time now in the courts of hell?

How fareth launcelot, who 'ere he fell
A thousand knights in battle overbore;
And for the love he could not hope to quell
His knighthood and his fealty foreswore?
How fareth he whose heart ached to its core
For beatrice — and whose mortal shell
Galled his great soul as twere a burden sore?
How passeth time now in the courts of hell?

And Abelard, who in his monkish cell
Failed for love's sake on heavenly things to pore:
Does he now wander in some stygian dell
With her whose image on his heart he wore?
How bideth tristram, since his days are o'er,
(Beloved of matron and of damosel?)
And he who with fair Juliet learned love's lore?
How passeth time now in the courts of hell?

Envoy.

Dear Gallant Lords who Bravely paid life's score,
And in this narrow world no longer dwell:
Tell us, who yet some some sweet, fair face adore,
How passeth time now in the courts of hell?