Classic Poem

Who hath released yow myne Eyes from griefe
that wonted were to shedd contynuall teares
The hope wee have to see our sweete relyefe
whose absent face, dyd plunge us so in feares.
And yow myne eares, what makes yow lysten soe
to every noyse and sownde that yow doe heare
Me thinkes we heare a voice, that wee well knowe
that voise wee meane that can revyve our cheare.
But is itt love my feete that wings your pace
to runne so swifte that were before so sloe
Noo no wee haste to see that heavenlye face
whose looks devyn coulde force a Blocke to goe;
But thow my harte agaynst this happy hower
why shoulde yow languyshe thus in fearefull plyght
Alas that sweet I doubte will breede my sower
for I shall dye with Joy to see the syghte.