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?
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