Classic Poem

Thou heav'ne-threat'ning Rock, gentler then shee,
Since of my paine
Thou still more sensible wilt bee,
Only when thou giv' st leave to complaine.
Echo.—Complaine
But thou do' st answere too, although in vaine;
Thou answer' st, When thou canst no pitty show.
Echo.—O.
What dost thou speak and pitty too?
Then yet a further favour doe,
And tell if of my grief I any end shall know.—
Echo.—No.
Sure shee will pitty him that loves her so truely,
Echo.—You lye.
Vile Rock, thou now grow' st so unruly,
That had' st thou Life as thou hast voice,
Thou should' st dye at my foot.
Echo.—Dy at my foot.
Thou canst not make me doo't,
Unless thou leave it to my choice:
Who thy hard sentence shall fulfill,
When thou shalt say I dy to please hir only will.
Echo.—I will.
When shee comes hither then I preethee tell,
Thou wert my Monument, and this my last Farwell.