Classic Poem

Beare part with me most straight and pleasant Tree,
And imitate the Torments of my smart
Which cruell Love doth send into my heart,
Keepe in thy skin this testament of me:

Which Love ingraven hath with miserie,
Cutting with griefe the unresisting part,
Which would with pleasure soone have learnd loves art,
But wounds still curelesse, must my rulers bee.

Thy sap doth weepingly bewray thy paine,
My heart-blood drops with stormes it doth sustaine,
Love sencelesse, neither good nor mercy knowes
Pitiles I doe wound thee, while that I
Unpitied, and unthought on, wounded crie:
Then out-live me, and testifie my woes.