Classic Poem

Vnto a caitife wretch, whom long affliction holdeth,
and now fully beleeues helpe to be quite perished,
Grant yet, grant yet a looke to the last monument of his anguish,
O you (alas, so I finde!), cause of his only ruine!
Dread not a whit, O goodly cruell, that pitie may enter
into thy heart by the sight of this Epistle I send,
And so refuse to behold of these strange wounds the recitall,
least it might th' allure home to thy selfe to returne;
Vnto thy selfe (I do meane those graces dwell so within thee)
gratefulnesse, sweetnesse, holy loue, hearty regard —
Such thing cannot I seeke (Despaire hath giu'n me my answer, —
Despaire, most tragicall clause to a deadly request);
Such thing cannot he hope that knows thy determinate hardnesse, —
hard like a rich marble; hard, but a faire diamond.
Can those eyes, that of eyes drownd in most hearty flowing teares, —
teares, and teares of a man, — had no returne to remorse;
Can those eyes now yeeld to the kind conceit of a sorrow
which inke only relates, but ne laments, ne replies?
Ah, that, that do I not conceiue, though that to my blisse were,
more than Nestor's yeares, more than a king's diademe.
Ah, that, that do I not conceiue, to the heauen where a mouse climes
then may I hope t' achieue grace of a heauenly tygre.
But, but, alas, like a man condemn'd doth craue to be heard speake,
not that he hopes for amends of the disaster he feeles,
But finding th' approach of death, with an inly relenting,
giues an adieu to the world, as to his only delight;
Right so my boyling heart, enflam'd with fire of a faire eye,
bubbling out doth breathe signes of his hugie dolours,
Now that he findes to what end his life and loue be reserued,
and that he thence must part, where to liue only he liu'd.
O faire, O fairest, are such the triumphs to thy fairenesse?
can death beautie become? must I be such monument?
Must I be only the marke shall proue that Vertue is angry?
shall proue that fiercenesse can with a white doue abide?
Shall to the world appear that faith and loue be rewarded
with mortall disdaine, bent to vnendly reuenge?
Vnto reuenge! O sweete, on a wretch wilt thou be reuenged?
shall such high planets tend to the losse of a worme?
And to reuenge who do bend would in that kind be reuenged,
as th' offence was done, and go beyond if he can.
All my offence was loue; with loue, then, must I be chastned,
and with more, by the lawes that to reuenge do belong.
If that loue be a fault, more fault in you to be louely;
Loue neuer had me opprest, but that I saw to be lou'd.
You be the cause that I lou'd: what Reason blameth a shadow,
that with a body 't goes? since by a body it is.
If that loue you did hate, you should your beautie haue hidden;
you should those faire eyes haue with a veile couered.
But, foole, foole that I am, those eyes would shine from a darke caue;
what veiles, then, do preuaile, but to a more miracle?
Or those golden locks, those locks which locke me to bondage,
torne, you should disperse vnto the blasts of a winde
But, foole, foole that I am, though I had but a hair of her head found,
eu'n as I am, so I should vnto that haire be a thrall.
Or with faire hands' nayles (O hand, which nayles me to this death!)
you should haue your face, since loue is ill, blemished
O wretch, what do I saye! should that faire face be defaced!
should my too-much sight cause so true a sun to be lost!
First let Cimmerian darkenesse be my onl' habitation,
first be mine eyes puld out, first be my braine perished
Ere that I should consent to do so excessiue a dammage
vnto the earth by the hurt of this her heauenly iewell.
O not, but such loue you say you could haue affoorded,
as might learne temp'rance void of a rage's euents
O sweet simplicitie! from whence should loue be so learned?
vnto Cupid, that boy, shall a pedante be found?
Well, but faultie I was: reason to my passion yeelded,
Passion vnto my rage, rage to a hastie reuenge
But what's this for a fault, for which such faith be abolisht,
such faith, so stainelesse, inuiolate, violent?
Shall I not, O may I not, thus yet refresh the remembrance,
what sweete ioyes I had once, and what a place I did hold?
Shall I not once obiect that you, you graunted a fauour
vnto the man whom now such miseries you award?
Bend your thoughts to the dear sweet words which then to me giu'n were;
thinke what a world is now, thinke who hath aitred her heart.
What! was I then worthy such good, now worthy such euill?
now fled, then cherished? then so nye, now so remote?
Did not a rosed breath, from lips rosie proceeding,
say that I well should finde in what a care I was had?
With much more: now what do I find but care to abhorre me,
Care that I sinke in griefe, care that I liue banished?
And banished do I liue, nor now will seeke a recou'rie,
since so she will, whose will is to me more than a law.
If, then, a man in most ill case may giue you a farewell,
farewell, long farewell, all my wo, all my delight.