Classic Poem

The complaint of two lovers, restrained from their wished desires by the displeasure of their friendes.

We lucklesse wightes in thraldome lincked still,
May sit and singe our layes of deepe lament,
Whose wayward friendes, accoyde in sullen will,
Both stirre and strive to sunder our consent;
And yet (God wot) their wreasting is in vaine:
One will serves both in pleasure and in paine.

Have they desire wee should bee shrinde in clay,
By sundring us that loves each other so?
Will they not know, Love doth no lawe obey ,
Nor how hee wrappes the wysest wightes in wo?
Thinke they that force can force our selves to hate?
O, no! in vaine, they seeke to sowe debate.

Our plighted faith shall never falsed bee,
Constrainte of will our wishes cannot yoke,
Our woordes in woorkes in weale and woe agree,
Such care wee have to keepe our vowe unbroke.
O love! through whom we live in this unrest,
Once ease thy thralles that thus obey thy hest.

Remove their wrath that woorkes to wrack our will,
That after stormes wee may some sunne shine see.
The fault is thine if love betyde us yll,
Which bound our selves that thou mightst set us free:
Wherefore vouchsafe (to sowre our sweete at last)
That gleames of grace our clowdes of woe may wast.