Classic Poem

Scarce I four lusters had enjoyed breath,
When my life's threid was cut by cruel death;
Few were my yeares, so were my sorrowes all,
Long dayes have drammes of sweet, but pounds of gall;
And yet the fruites which my faire spring did give,
Prove some may longer breath, not longer live.
That craggie path which doth to vertue lead,
With steps of honor I did stronglie tread;
I made sweet layes, and into notes divyne
Out sung Apollo and the Muses nyne.
For this sweetest swannets did extolle my verse,
For this sweetest swannets now weepe o're my hearse,
For which I pardone Fates my date of yeares;
Kings may have vaster tombes, not dearer teares.