Classic Poem

Wretched Niobe I am,
Let wretches reade my case,
Not such who with a teare ne're wet their face.
Seuen daughters of mee came,
And sonnes as many, which one fatall day
(Orb'd mother!) tooke away:
Thus reft by heauens vnjust,
Griefe turn'd mee stone, stone too mee doth entombe,
Which if thou dost mistrust,
Of this hard rocke-but ope the flintie wombe,
And heere thou shalt finde marble, and no dust.