 | Chrestoleros |  |
Epigr. 18.
The poore man plaines vnto a Crocodile,And with true tears his cheeks he doth bedew,
Sir, I am wrong'd and spoild: alas the while,
I am vndone, good sir some pitie shewe:
Then weepes the Crocodile, but you may see,
his teeth preparde and hollow rauening iawe:
Then dry the poore mans teares, away goes he,
13
He did me wrong which robde me as you see.
But he which stole my tears, stole more from me.
| Chrestoleros | |