Classic Poem

Mourne not, faire Greece, the ruine of thy kings,
Thy temples raz'd, thy forts with flemes deuour'd,
Thy championes slaine, thy virgines pure deflowred,
Nor all those greifes which sterne Bellona brings:
But mourne, fair Greece, mourne that that sacred band
Which made thee once so famous by their songs,
Forct by outrageous Fate, haue left thy land,
And left thee scarce a voice to plaine thy wrongs;
Monrne that those climates which to thee appeare
Beyond both Phaebus and his sistere's wayes,
To saue thy deedes from death must lend thee layes,
And such as from Musaeus thou didst heare;
For now Irene hath attain'd such fame,
That Hero's ghost doth weepe to heare her name.