Classic Poem

Devoid of reason, thrale to foolish ire,
I walke and chase a savage fairie still,
Now neere the flood, straight on the mounting hill,
Now midst the woodes of youth, and vaine desire:
For leash I beare a cord of carefull griefe,
For brach I lead an over forward minde,
My houndes are thoughtes, and rage dispairing blind,
Paine, crueltie, and care without reliefe:
But they perceiving that my swift pursute,
My flying fairie cannot overtake,
With open mouthes their pray on me do make,
Like hungrie houndes that lately lost their suite.
And full of furie on their maister feede,
To hasten on my haplesse death with speede.