Classic Poem

Sweet brooke, in whose cleare christall I mine eyes
Haue oft seene great in labour of their teares;
Enamell'd banke, whose shining grauell beares
These sad characters of my miseries;
High woods, whose mounting tops menace the spheares;
Wild citizens, Amphions of the trees,
You gloomie groues at hottest noones which freeze,
Elysian shades which Phebus neuer cleares;
Vaste solitarie mountaines, pleasant plaines,
Embrodred meads that ocean-wayes you reach,
Hills, dales, springs, all that my sad cry constraines
To take part of my plaints, and learne woe's speach,
Will that remorselesse faire e're pitie show?
Of grace now answere if yee ought know. No.