Classic Poem

If this most wretched and infernal anguish,
Wherein so long your absence makes me languish,
My vital spirits spending,
Do not work out my ending;
Nor yet your long expected safe returning,
To heav'nly joy my hellish torments turning,
With joy so overfill me,
As presently it kill me:
I will conclude, hows'ever schools deceive a man,
No joy, nor sorrow, can of life bereave a man.