Sonnets, Etc, XIII

If lamentations and complaints could rein The course of rivers as they rolled along, And move on desert hills, attired in song, The savage forests, if they could constrain Fierce tigers and chill rocks to entertain The sound, and with less urgency than mine, Lead tyrant Pluto and stern Proserpine, Sad and subdued with magic of their strain; Why will not my vexatious being, spent In misery and in tears, to softness soothe A bosom steeled against me? with more ruth An ear of rapt attention should be lent The voice of him that mourns himself for lost, Than that which sorrowed for a forfeit ghost!