Classic Poem

Stay mine eyes, these floods of teares
Seeme but follies weakely growing,
Babes at nurse such wayling beares,
Frowardnesse such drops bestowing:
But Niobe must shew my fate,
She wept and griev'd her selfe a state.

My sorrowes like her Babes appeare
Daily added by increasing;
She lost them, I loose my Deare,
Not one spar'd from woes ne're ceasing:
She made a rock, heaven drops downe teares,
Which pitie shewes, and on her weares.