Justus quidem tu es,
Domine, si disputem tecum; verumtamen justa loquar ad te: quare via impiorum prosperatur? 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, leav{`e}d how thick! lac{`e}d 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.
