Classic Poem

Whilst sighing forth his wrongs,
In sweet, though dolefull songs,
Alexis seekes to charme his Rora's eares,
The hills are heard to mone,
To sigh each spring appeares;
Trees, euen hard trees, through rine distill their teares,
And soft growes euery stone,
But teares, sighes, songs can not faire Rora moue;
Prowde of his plaints, shee glories in his loue.