Classic Poem

The same man beeing desired the next day following, to singe some prety song to the Virginalles, by a Gentlewoman that he made no small accoumpt of: was faine, Extempore, to endite, and sing as followeth.
A MID my ioyes such greefe I fynde,
That what to doo, I know not I:
My pleasures are but blastes of winde:
Full well euen now, and by and by
Some sodaine panges torment me so
That I could euen cric out for wo.

And yet perforce no remedy:
Needes must I laugh when I could mourne:
Yea, ofte I sing when presently
To teares my singing could I tourne.
Such luck haue Gaimsters, some men say
Winne and loose and all in a day.

But some there are, whom Fortune still
Giues leaue to winne, and seldome lose:
Oh, would to God, I had my will,
That I might soone be one of those
That are in Fortunes fauour so:
Then neede I not thus playne of wo.

For if that I were sure at least,
For to obtaine that I would craue:
Yea, though it were but one request
I would desire no more to haue:
I aske but euen one happy day
Let me doo after as I may.

And sure I see no remedy,
But euen to hope on happe alone:
And that it is that comfortes me:
For when hope fayles, all ioyes are gone.
Therefore, what with hope and dispayre
My ioyes lye houering in the ayre.

Which, would to God, would eyther fall
Or else be driuen quite away:
That I might haue no hope at all,
Or else that I might happily say:
Now haue I found the thing I sought
Now will I take but little thought.

Well yet I hope, or ere I dye,
To light on such a happy day:
That I may sing full merrily,
Not, heigh ho wele, but care away:
The Ship, full many tempests past,
Hath reacht the quiet Hauen at last