Classic Poem

Get hence, foule Griefe, the canker of the minde;
Farewell, Complaint, the miser's onely pleasure;
Away, vain Cares, by which few men doe finde
Their sought-for treasure.

Ye helpelesse sighes, blow out your breath to nought;
Teares, drowne your selues, for woe your cause is wasted;
Thought, thinke to end, — too long the fruit of thought
My minde hath tasted.

But thou, sure Hope, tickle my leaping heart;
Comfort, step thou in place of wonted sadnesse;
Fore-felt Desire, begin to savour part
Of comming gladnesse.

Let voice of sighes into cleare musicke run;
Eyes, let your teares with gazing now be mended;
In steed of thought true pleasure be begun,
And neuer ended.