Classic Poem

If so hap, this of-spring of my care,
These fatall Antheames, lamentable Songs:
Come to their view, who like afflicted are;
Let them sigh for their owne, and mone my wrongs.
But untoucht hearts, with unaffected eie,
Approach not to behold my heavinesse:
Cleer-sighted you, soone note what is awrie,
Whilst blinded soules mine errours never gesse.
You blinded soules whom youth and errour leade,
You out-cast Eaglets, dazeled with your sunne:
Doe you, and none but you my sorrowes reade,
You best can judge the wrongs that she hath done.
That she hath done, the motive of my paine;
Who whilst I love, doth kill me with disdaine.