Classic Poem

A Sonet, wherin is showne the straunge effectes of love.

In care I joy, my mirth is mov'd by mone,
With flouds of want I weare to ebbe my wo;
Appayd I rest in restlesse griefe to grone,
By fainting hope my friendly hap doth growe:
In waves of bale I bathe in wished blisse,
My wealth in woe, in paine my pleasure is.

But how these hang, if so she search my harme,
These fewe suffice the same to shew (my sweete):
To rayse her joy my selfe I wholy arme,
To freese or fry as she shall deeme it meete,
I bound am free, and free I yeald her slave:
That's my delight that she desires to have.

And sith my sport doth make my sovereigne coy,
And mirth she finds to thwart my faith with frumps,
I sad, am glad my noy may force her joy,
My sowre her sweete, my dole may cleare her dumpes;
Yea, life I wish this were to do her good,
Each day to waste a drop of guiltlesse blood.