Classic Poem

Thou Paine, the onely guest of loath'd Constraint,
The child of Curse, man's weaknesse' foster-child,
Brother to Woe, and father of Complaint;
Thou Paine, thou hated Paine, from heau'n exilde,
How holdst thou her whose eyes Constraint doth feare,
Whom curst do blesse, whose weaknesse vertues arme,
Who others' woes and plaints can chastly beare,
In whose sweet heau'n angels of high thoughts swarm?
What courage strange hath caught thy caitife hart?
Fear'st not a face that oft whole harts devowres?
Or art thou from aboue bid play this part,
And so no helpe 'gainst enuy of those powers?
If thus, alas, yet while those parts haue wo,
So stay her toung that she no more say " No."