Classic Poem

CXXXVII

Pass forth, my wonted cries,
Those cruel ears to pierce,
Which in most hateful wise
Doth still my plaints reverse.
Do you, my tears, also
So wet her barren heart
That pity there may grow
And cruelty depart.

For though hard rocks among
She seems to have been bred,
And with tigers full long
Been nourished and fed,
Yet shall that nature change
If pity once win place,
Whom as unknown and strange
She now away doth chase.

And as the water soft
Without forcing of strength
Where that it falleth oft
Hard stones doth pierce at length,
So in her stony heart
My plaints at length shall grave,
And, rigour set apart,
Cause her grant that I crave.

Wherefore, my plaints, present
Still so to her my suit
As it, through her assent,
May bring to me some fruit.
And as she shall me prove,
So bid her me regard
And render love for love,
Which is a just reward.