Classic Poem

Marvel no more although
The songs I sing do moan,
For other life than woe
I never proved none.

And in my heart also
Is graven with letters deep
A thousand sighs and mo,
A flood of tears to weep.

How may a man in smart
Find matter to rejoice?
How may a mourning heart
Set forth a pleasant voice?

Play who that can that part:
Needs must in me appear
How fortune, overthwart,
Doth cause my mourning cheer.

Perdy! there is no man
If he never saw sight,
That perfectly tell can
The nature of the light.

Alas! how should I than,
That never tast but sour,
But do as I began
Continually to lour.

But yet perchance some chance
May chance to change my tune;
And when such chance doth chance
Than shall I thank fortune.

And if such chance do chance,
Perchance, ere it be long,
For such a pleasant chance
To sing some pleasant song.