Classic Poem

Pawse awhile my prittie muse,
Let me rest for I am werie;
All the musicke thou canst vse
Cannot make thy master merry;
For what hart can hold vp head
When the joye of lif is dead?

See how Phillis faire and bright,
Beawties pride and Vertues pleasure;
Halfe depriued of her light
Sittes and sorrows out of measure;
And when she is woe begon,
Well a waie poore Choridon!

Bid my Phillis once but cease
Euer mourning, neuer endinge;
Reason shall my greife release,
Which ells, hopes of no amendinge;
For while shee doth hange the head
Coridon can be but dead.

And therfore let this suffize:
But in vaine thou doest devize
While thow seest my Phillis sadd
How my comfort maie be hadd;
For but in her ioye or greif
Lives my death or my relief;
In her sorrow is my hell,
Bidd her laughe and I am well.