Classic Poem

A! mercy, Fortune, have pitee on me,
And thinke that thu hast done gretely amisse
To parte asondre them whiche ought to be
Alwey in on. Why hast thu doo thus?
Have I offended thee? I? Nay! iwisse.
Then turne thy whele and be my frende again,
And send me joy where I am nowe in pain.

And thinke what sorowe is the departing
Of two trewe hertes loving feithfully.
For parting is the most soroughfull thinge,
To mine entent, that ever yet knewe I.
Therfore I pray to thee right hertely
To turne thy whele and be my frende again,
And sende me joy where I am nowe in pain.

For, till we mete, I dare well say, for trouth,
That I shall never be in ease of herte.
Wherfor I pray you to have of me sume routh,
And release me of all my paines smerte,
Now, sith thu woste it is nat my deserte.
Then turne thy whele and be my frende again,
And sende me joy where I am nowe in pain.