Classic Poem

What haplesse hap had I now to bee borne
In these vnhappie times, and dying dayes,
Of this else-doating world, when good decayes,
Loue is quench'd forth, and vertue held a scorne;
When such are onely priz'd, by wretched wayes
Who with a golden fleece them can adorne,
When auarice and lust are counted praise,
And noble mindes liue orphane-like forlorne?
Why was not I into that golden age,
When gold yet was not knowne, and those blacke artes,
By which base mortalles vildely play their parts,
And staine with horride actes earth's stately stage?
Then to haue beene, heauen! it had beene my blisse;
But blesse mee now, and take mee soone from this.