Classic Poem

Deare eye, which daig'nst on this sad monument
The sable scroule of my mishaps to view,
Though with the mourning Muses' teares besprent,
And darkly drawne, which is not fain'd, but true,
If thou not dazell'd with a heauenly hue,
And comely feature, did'st not yet lament,
But happie liu'st vnto thy self content,
O let not loue thee to his lawes subdue.
Looke on the wofull shipwracke of my youth,
And let my ruines for a Phare thee serue,
To shunne this rocke Capharean of vntrueth,
And serue no god who doth his church-men sterue:
His kingdome is but plaints, his guerdon teares,
What hee giues more are iealousies and feares.