Classic Poem

Since there's no helpe,--come, let us kisse and parte,
Nay, I have done,--you get no more of me;
And I am glad,--yea, glad with all my hearte,
That thus so cleanly I myselfe can free.
Shake hands forever!--cancel all our vows;
And when we meet at any time againe,
Be it not seene in either of our brows,
That we one jot of former love retaine.

Now--at the last gaspe of Love's latest breath--
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
Now! if thou wouldst--when all have given him over--
From death to life thou mightst him yet recover.