Classic Poem

Sorrow, the Salue, and Sore of deadly Sin.
Sister of mercy, Mother of Remorce
Who by thy being lost, dost Being win:
And, through thy strengthes decay, augmentst thy force
Who, while thou hurt'st, thou bealst (together both)
So, takst away thy Beeing, with thy Beeing:
Who loath'st to loue because thou lou'st to loath,
That which doth giue thee sight, or blinds thy seeing:
O thou sweet Sowr-sowr-sweet, (each way too true!)
Sweeten that Sowr that Sowrest death doth seek:
Make sweet, sowr Sin, by making Death (hir due)
Dy, sith I liue, by Sin, made truly meek:
For, when as Ill, by Grace, make good our Mood
Grace lets Ill Bee, that so, it may be good!