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Montanus Sonnet.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Montanus Sonnet.

When the dogge
Full of rage
With his irefull eyes
Frownes amidst the skies:


The Sheepheard to asswage
The furie of the heate,
Him selfe dooth safely seate
By a Fount
Full of faire,
Where a gentle breath
Mounting from beneath,
tempereth the ayre.
There his flocks
Drinke their fill,
And with ease repose,
While sweet sleepe doth close
Eyes from toyling ill,
But I burne,
Without rest,
No defensiue power
Shields from Phœbus lower,
sorrow is my best.
Gentle Loue
Lower no more,
If thou wilt inuade
In the secret shade,
Labour not so sore
I my selfe
And my flocks,
They their Loue to please,
I my selfe to ease,
Both leaue the shadie Oakes,
Content to burne in fire,
Sith Loue dooth so desire.
FINIS.
S. E. D.