| Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend | |
| With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just. | |
| Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must | |
| Disappointment all I endeavour end? | |
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| Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend, | |
| How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost | |
| Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust | |
| Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend, | |
| Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes | |
| Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again | |
| With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes | |
| Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain, | |
| Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes. | |
| Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain. |