Classic Poem

In this curst brest, borne onely to be pin'd,
Some furie hath such fantasies infus'd,
That I though with her cruelties well us'd,
Can daigne my selfe to serve one so inclind.
Such hellish horrors tosse my restlesse mind,
That with beguiling hopes vainely abus'd,
It yet affects that which the Fates refus'd,
And dare presume to pleade for that unkind:
Then traiterous thoughts, that have seduc'd my sence,
Whose vaine inventions I have oft times wail'd,
I bainsh you the bounds, whereas ye fail'd
To live from hence, exil'd for your offence.
But what availes all this, though I would leave them,
If that the heart they hurt againe receive them.