Scillaes Metamorphosis: Enterlaced with the vnfortunate loue of Glaucus VVhereunto is annexed the delectable discourse of the discontented Satyre: with sundrie other most absolute Poems and Sonnets. Contayning the detestable tyrannie of Disdaine, and Comicall triumph of Constancie: Verie fit for young Courtiers to peruse, and coy Dames to remember. By Thomas Lodge |
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 | Scillaes Metamorphosis: Enterlaced with the vnfortunate loue of Glaucus |  |
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[VVearie am I to wearie Gods and men]
VVearie am I to wearie Gods and men,Wearie am I to weep so manie teares
without some succor:
Wearie am I my wretched state to ken,
Wearie am I to see my wofull yeares
consume with dolor.
These mounts, these fields, these rocks, these waues, these woods
Resigne their ecchoes to my wofull cries,
too much disdained:
These lambes, these kidds, these bullockes, leaue their foods,
These flowers, this grasse, with mourning parched lies
to see me pained.
Naught vnder Sunne that hath not tasted change,
without departure.
Accurst be Loue, that wrought this wonder strange,
Boading my sorowes by my wanton will
that causde my smarting.
O quiet life forepast, why hast thou left
The wofull shepheard wearie of his paine
to feed on sorrow?
Oh weeping eies of wonted ioyes bereft,
Why leaue you him whom lucklesse Loue hath slaine
to view the morrow?
My faintfull flocke dooth languish and lament,
To see their master mourning his mischance
this iolly season:
My bagpip's broke, my roundelaies are blent,
My rebecke now my solace to aduance
accounts it geason:
Yet not alone sheepe, lambes, kidds weep my woe:
But rockes for ruth, and birds for sorow plaine
my wofull wending:
Then cruell Loue vouchsafe me to forgoe
My wretched life, the cause of mickle paine,
and make mine ending.
The rockes their brookes with murmuring noyse shall weepe,
The birds their songs with warbling notes shall sing:
and full of pleasure
My flockes shall feed, although their master sleep,
And to my graue their falling fleeces bring,
their natiue treasure.
Solace each where shall raigne when I am dead,
No care, no woe, no sorrow shall preuaile:
but well contented
Poore I shall sleep, when cursed Loue is fled,
That first with furie did the fields assaile
where I frequented.
Finis.
| Scillaes Metamorphosis: Enterlaced with the vnfortunate loue of Glaucus | |