Classic Poem

A SOLEMNE SONNET

F ORTVNE hath writ characters on my heart
As full of crosses as the skinne can holde
Which tell of torments, tearing euery part,
While Death and Sorrowe do my fate vnfolde

Patience sits leaning like a pining soule,
That had no heart to thinke of Hopes reliefe;
While fruitlesse cares discomfort doe enroule
Within the ground of neuer ending griefe.

Thoughts flie about, as all in feare confounded;
Reason growne mad, with too much mal content
Loue, passion-rent, to see his patience wounded
With dreadfull terrors of Despaires intent.

While Care concludes in comforts overthrowne,
Whe Death can speak my passios shal be showne.