Classic Poem

If thys be love, to draw a weary breath,
Paint on floods, till the shore, cry to th'ayre;
With downward lookes still reading on the earth
The sad memorials of my love's despayre:
If this be love, to warre against my soule,
Lye downe to waile, rise up to sigh and grieve;
The never-resting stone of care to roule,
Still to complaine my griefes, whilst none relieve:
If this be love, to cloathe me with darke thoughts,
Haunting untroden pathes to waile apart;
My pleasures, horror; Musique, tragick notes;
Teares in mine eyes, and sorrow at my hart:
If thys be love, to live a living death,
O then love I, and draw this weary breath