Classic Poem

Among the groves, the woods and thickes,
The bushes, brambles, and the briers,
The shrubbes, the stubbes, the thornes, and prickes
The ditches, plashes, lakes and miers.

Where fish nor fowle, nor bird nor beast
Nor living thing may take delight,
Nor reason's rage may looke for rest,
Till heart be dead of hatefull spight:

Within the caue of care unknowne.
Where hope of comfort all decayes
Let me with sorrow sit alone
In dolefull thoughts to end my dayes.

And when I heare the stormes arise,
That troubled ghosts doe leave the grave;
With hellish sounds of horror's cries,
Let me goe look out of my cave.

And when I feel what paines they bide,
That doe the greatest torments prove
Then let not me the sorrow hide,
That I have suffer'd by my love

Where losses, crosses, care and griefe,
With ruthfull, spitefull, hatefull hate
Without all hope of hap's reliefe
Doe tugge and teare the heart to naught;

But sigh, and say, and sing, and sweare
It is too much for one to beare.