"From off a hill whose concave womb re-worded

A plaintful story from a sistering vale,

My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,

And down I laid to list the sad-tun'd tale;

Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,

Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,

Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,

Which fortified her visage from the sun,

Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw

The carcase of a beauty spent and done.

Time had not scythed all that youth begun,

Nor youth all quit; but, spite of Heaven's fell rage

Some beauty peeped through lattice of sear'd age.

Of"

Excerpt From

A Lover's Complaint

William Shakespeare

https://books.apple.com/pk/book/a-lovers-complaint/id498662218

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