Classic Poem

Griefe , that was once farre off remov'd from me,
Begins (as now) for to approach me nere,
Clad in his Weedes, which Black and fear full be,
And crownde with fatall Cypresse doth appeare,
 With wringing Hands he doth bewaile my ruth,
 And mournes, that I have straide so wide from Truth.

Reason the Cochman to my wandring Thought,
As in a Christall glasse, doth shew most plaine
My gazing eyes, how I have fondly wrought,
Spending my Time in Toyes , and Fancies vaine,
 He shew'th me now another Novell LOVE,
 Another path, wherein my feete to move.

As One, who in his Travaille doth espie,
(By chance) a hideous Serpent or foule Snake ,
That long before unseene did closely lie
Behinde some stub, where he his Nest did make,
 (Shaking his three-forkt hissing tongue apace)
 Quickly himselfe retireth from that place:

So I by loving wrong (unhappie Wight)
Having amisse straide long time, and awrie,
When I (at last) of Death had but a sight,
(Although farre off) yet backward, gan I hie:
 Backward I came, with hastie speedie foote,
 Leaving that Course, which I at first had tooke.