Classic Poem

Goe hence away, and in thy parting know
tis not my voice, but heauens, that bidds thee goe;
Spring hence thy faith, nor thinke it ill desert
I finde in thee, that makes me thus to part,
But voice of fame, and voice of heauen haue thunderd
we both were lost, if both of us not sunderd;
fould now thine armes, and in thy last looke reare
one Sighe of loue, and coole it with a teare;
Since part we must Let's kisse, that done retire
with as cold frost, as erst we mett with fire;
With such white vowes as fate can nere dissever
but truth knitt fast; and so farewell for euer.