Classic Poem

Thou sentst to mee a heart was crown'd
I tooke itt to be thine;
But when I saw itt had a wound
I knew that heart was mine.
A bounty of a strange conceit
To send my owne to mee,
And send itt in a worse estate,
Then itt was sent to thee.
The heart I sent was free from staine,
Itt was entire and sound,
But thou returndst itt back againe,
Sick of a deadly wound.
O heavens how wouldst thou use a heart,
That should rebellious bee;
Since thou art so unkind to that
Which so much honoured thee.