Classic Poem

Sweete solitarines, joy to those hearts
That feele the pleasure of Loves sporting darts,
Grudge me not, though a vassall to his might,
And a poore subject to curst changings spite,
To rest in you, or rather restlesse move
In your contents to sorrow for my love.
A Love, which living, lives as dead to me,
As holy reliques which in boxes be,
Plac'd in a chest, that overthrowes my joy,
Shut up in change, which more then plagues destroy.
These, O you solitarinesse, may both endure,
And be a Chirurgion to find me a cure:
For this curst corsive eating my best rest
Memorie, sad memorie in you once blest,
But now most miserable with the weight
Of that, which onely shewes Loves strange deceit;
You are that cruell wound that inly weares
My soule, my body wasting into teares.
You keepe mine eies unclos'd, my heart untide,
From letting thought of my best dayes to slide.
Froward Remembrance, what delight have you,
Over my miseries to take a view?
Why doe you tell me in this same-like place
Of Earths best blessing I have seene the face?
But maskd from me, I onely see the shade
Of that, which once my brightest Sun-shine made.
You tell me, that I then was blest in Love,
When equall passions did together move.
O why is this alone to bring distresse
Without a salve, but torments in excesse?
A cruell Steward you are to inrole
My once-good dayes, of purpose to controle
With eyes of sorrow; yet leave me undone
By too much confidence my thrid so sponne:
In conscience move not such a spleene of scorne,
Under whose swellings my despaires are borne.
Are you offended (choicest Memorie),
That of your perfect gift I did glorie?
If I did so offend, yet pardon me.
Since 'twas to set forth your true exelencie.
Sufficiently I thus doe punish'd stand,
While all that curst is, you bring to my hand.
Or, is it that I no way worthy was
In so rich treasure my few dayes to passe?
Alas, if so and such a treasure given
Must I for this to Hell-like paine bee driven?
Fully torment me now, and what is best
Together take, and mem'ry with the rest,
Leave not that to me, since but for my ill,
Which punish may, and millions of hearts kill.
Then may I lonely sit downe with my losse
Without vexation, for my losses crosse:
Forgetting pleasures late embrac'd with Love,
Linck'd to a faith, the world could never move;
Chain'd with affection, I hop'd could not change,
Not thinking Earth could yeeld a place to range:
But staying, cruelly you set my blisse
With deepest mourning in my sight, for misse
And thus must I imagine my curse more,
When you I lov'd add to my mischiefs store:
If not, then Memory continue still,
And vex me with your perfectest knowne skill,
While you deare solitarinesse accept
Me to your charge, whose many passions kept
In your sweet dwellings have this profit gaind,
That in more delicacie none was paind:
Your rarenesse now receive my rarer woe
With change, and Love appoints my soule to know.