Classic Poem

Thou Pain, the only guest of loathed constraint,
The child of curse, man's weakness' foster-child,
Brother to woe, and father of complaint;
Thou Pain, thou hated Pain, from heav'n exiled,
How hold'st thou her, whose eyes constraint doth fear,
Whom cursed do bless, whose weakness virtues arm,
Who others' woes and plaints can chastely bear,
In whose sweet heav'n angels of high thoughts swarm?
What courage strange hath caught thy caitiff heart?
Fear'st not a face that oft whole hearts devours,
Or art thou from above bid play this part,
And so no help 'gainst envy of those powers?
If thus, alas; yet while those parts have woe,
So stay her tongue that she no more say no.