Classic Poem

Why When life is my true happinesse disease?
My soule, my soule, thy saftie makes me flie
The fault is meanes, that might my payne appease.
But in my hart her seuerall tormentes dwell.

Ah worthlesse witt to traine mee to this woe,
Deceiptfull arts that nourish discontent:
Ill thriue the follie that bewitcht me so,
s adieu for now I will repent.
And yet my wantes perswade me to proceed,
Since none takes pittie one a Scholers need.

forgiue me God althought I curse my birth,
And ban the ayre wherin I breath a wreatch:
Since miserie hath daunted all my mirth,

ly frowne,
When changing fortune casts vs headlong downe.

Without redresse complains my carelesse Verse,
And Mydas eares relent not at my moane
In some farr land will I my griefe rehearse,
Mongst them that wilbee mooued when I groane,
Ingland adieu the soyle that brought mee forth
hing worth.