Song VIII. The hard Heart

Still so hard-hearted? what may be
The sin thou hast committed?
That now the angry Deity
Has to a Rock congealed thee,
And thus thy hardness fitted?
To make one act both sin and curse,
And plague thy hardness with a worse.

Till thee there never was but one
Was to a Rock translated,
Poor Niobe that weeping stone:
She ever did, thou ne're dost moan,
Nor is thy scorn abated.
The tears I send to thee are grown
Of that same nature, and turn stone.

Yet I, dear Rock, must worship thee,
Love works this superstition,
And justifies the Idolatry
That's shown to such a stone as thee,
Where it fore-runs fruition.
Thou'rt so magnetick, that I can
No more leave thee, than to be Man.

But thou, I warrant thee, dost suppose
This new design will slay me,
And rvel out my life with woes
Till death, at last, mine eyes shall close;
Then in thy breast thou'lt lay me,
That all may read, lo here I lye
Tb'd in thy heart, slain by thine eye.

But I, I vow, will be more wise,
And love with such discretion;
When I read coyness in thy eyes,
I'll robe mine with like cruelties,
And kill with prepossession.
Then I'll turn stone, and so will be
An endless monument to thee.