Classic Poem

Thou heaven-threat'ning Rock, gentler then she!
Since of my pain
Thou still more sensible wilt be,
Only when thou giv'st leave but to complain.
Echo Complain.

But thou dost answer too, although in vain
Thou answer'st when thou canst no pity show.
Echo Oh.
What canst thou speak and pity too?
Then yet a further favour do,
And tell if of my griefs I any end shall know.
Echo No.

Sure she will pity him that loves her so truly.
Echo You ly.
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 Dye at my foot.
Thou canst not make me do't,
Unless thou leave it to my choice,
Who thy hard sentence shall fulfill,
When thou shalt say, I dye to please her only will.
Echo I will.
When she comes hither, then, I pray thee, tell,
Thou art my Monument, and this my last farewell.