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Lalus.
This Mayde thus made for joyes, (O Pan) bemone her,
That withoute Love, shee spendes her yeares of Love,
So fayre a feelde woulde well become an Owner,
And yf enchauntement can a hard harte moove,
Teache mee what Circle can acquaynte her spirite
Affections charmes in my behalf to proove.
The Circle ys my (Rounde aboute her) sighte
The power I will Invoke dwelles in her eyes
My Charme shoulde bee, shee haunte mee day and nighte.

Dorus.
Farr other Case, (O Muse) my sorrowe tryes,
Bent to suche one in whome my self must saye,
No thing can mende one poynte, that in her lyes:
What Circle then in so rare force beares sway,
Whose spirit all Spirites can spoyle, rayse, dampne or save,
No Charme holdes her, but well possess shee may
Possess shee dothe and makes my sowle her Slave,
My eyes the bandes, my thoughtes the fatall knott,
No thralles like them, that Inwarde bondage have.

Lalus.
Kala, at lengthe conclude my Lingering Lott,
Disdayne mee not, allthoughe I bee not fayre,
Who ys an heyre, of many hundred sheepe
Dothe beutyes kepe, whiche never sone can burne,
Nor stormes do turne, fayrenes serves ofte to wealthe.
Yet, all my healthe, I place in youre good will.

idem.
Whiche, yf yow will, (O Doo) bestowe on mee,
Suche as yow see, suche still yow shall mee fynde,
Constant, and kynde, my sheepe youre foode shall breede,
Theyre woolle youre weede, I will yow musick yeelde,
In flowery fielde, and as the day beginnes,
With Twenty ginnes, wee will the smalle Byrdes take,
And pastymes make, as Nature thinges hathe made,
But when in shade, wee meete of Mirtle bowes,
Then Love allowes, Oure pleasures to enriche,
The thoughte of whiche, dothe pass all worldly pelf.

Dorus.
Lady youre self, whome neyther name I dare,
And tytles are, but spottes to suche a worthe,
Her playntes come forthe, from Dongeon of my mynde,
The Noblest kynde, rejectes not others woes,
I have no shewes of welthe, my Wealthe ys yow,
My Beutyes hew, youre beames, my healthe youre Deedes,
My mynde for weedes, youre vertuous Livery weares,
My foode ys teares, my Tunes Weymenting yeelde.

Idem.
Dispayre my feelde, the flowers, Spirittes, Warres
My day newe Cares, my ginnes my daily sighte,
In whiche do lighte, smalle Byrdes of thoughtes overthrown
My Pastymes none, Tyme passeth on my falle,
Nature made all, But mee of Doloures made
I fynde no shade, But where my sunne dothe burne,
No place to turne, Withowte, Within yt fryes,
Nor help by lyfe, or Deathe who living dyes.

Lalus.
But yf my Kala, this my suite denyes,
Whiche so muche reason beares:
Let Crowes pick owte myne eyes,
Whiche to muche sawe,
Yf shee still hate loves Lawe, my earthy moulde dothe melt in watery teares.

Dorus.
My earthy moulde do melt in watery teares,
And they ageane resolve, to ayer of sighes,
Sighes to the hartes fyer turne, wch dothe to Asshes burne,
Thus dothe my lyfe within yt self dissolve.

Lalus.
Thus dothe my Lyfe within yt self Dissolve,
That I growe like the Beaste,
Whiche beares the Bitt:
A weyker force dothe guyde:
Yet pacyence must abyde.
Suche weight yt hathe, whiche once ys full possest.

Dorus.
Suche weighte yt hathe, whiche once ys full possest,
That I became a Vision,
Whiche hathe in others hed his onely beeyng,
And lives in Francyes seeyng,
O wretched state of man, in self Division?

Lalus.
O wretched state of man in self Division?
O, well thow sayest, a feeling declaracion?
Thy tongue hathe made of Cupides deepe incision,
But now hoârse voyce dothe fayle this occupacyon.
And others longe to tell theyre Loves Condicion,
Of singing, thow haste gott the Reputacyon.

Dorus.
Of singing, thow haste gott the Reputacyon,
Good Lalus myne, I yeelde to thy habillity
My harte dothe seeke an other estimacyon,
But, Ah (my Muse) I woulde thow hadst facility?
To worcke my Goddess so by thy Invention;
On mee to cast those eyes, where shyne Nobility,
Seene & knowne, hearde, but, withoute attention.