Diana of George of Montemayor :: :: University of Virginia Library

Waters that fall from top of these steepe Hils,
With such a noyse into these lowe deepe Vales,
Why thinke you not of those, which from my Soule
Continually distill my wearied Eies?
And what's the cause of them? Vnluckie Time,
In which hard fortune robbed all my Ioy.
Loue gaue me hope of such a golden Ioy,
That ther's no Shepherdesse in all these Hils,
That had such cause to praise a happy Time:
But after he did put me in these Vales
Of swelling teares that fall from both mine Eies:
Not to behold such greefe as kils my Soule.
Such is the paine, that wounds a louing Soule,
That in the end I know what thing is Ioy:
O where shall I then turne my wearied Eies?
If that the medowes, woods, the plaines, and Hils,
The pleasant groues, and fountaines of the Vales,
Still to my thoughts present so sweete a Time?
Who would haue thought that such a happy Time
Should be so fierce a torment to my Soule?
Or cruell fortune banish me the Vale,

Wherin all things were obiects of my Ioy?
Vntill the hungrie woolfe, which to the Hill
Ascending vp, was pleasant to mine Eies.
But fortune now, what may my drenched Eies
Behold, which saw their Shepherd many a Time
Driuing his lambes before him downe this Hill?
Whose name for ay shall rest within my Soule.
O fortune foe vnto my former Ioy,
How doe I languish in this irkesome Vale?
But when so pleasant and so fresh a Vale
Is not delightfull to my wearied Eies,
And where I cannot finde content and Ioy:
And hope not now to haue it any Time,
See what extremes enuiron then my Soule:
O that he came againe. O that sweete Hill:
O highest Hils, and fresh and pleasant Vale,
Where once my Soule did rest and both these Eies,
Tell me shall I in Time haue so much Ioy?

[To heare me wearied is the cleerest riuer]

To heare me wearied is the cleerest riuer,
Tedious I am to euery vale and mountaine:
And now to heare (O loue, my sorrowes giuer)
My plaining, wearied is each cristall fountaine.
The Sicamour, the Oke, and Elme are wearie,
Spring, Sommer, Autumne, and the winter season
Hearing my cries are sworne not to be merry.
With teares I melt these rocks: and yet all reason
Of pitie (Tigresse) thou dost still deny me,
When trees, and stones for greefe are dying by me.

A bondslaue of a freeman thou hast made me,
And of a man of reason, cleane contrarie:
With life, and death, by turnes thou dost inuade me,
And to tormenting greefe my soule dost carrie.
Of affable, and one that liu'd so gayly,

Made me thou hast to frowards disdaining:
Of one, that did conuerse with all man daily,
Made me thou hast their company refraining.
Eies had I once, now blinded with desire:
I was a man of flesh, but now of fire.

What's this my hart, thy torments dost thou double?
Tell me mine eies, and are you still a weeping?
My soule, sufficeth not my passed trouble?
My teares, and are ye yet in riuers steeping?
My wandring wits, and are you not molested
More then ynough with such incessant sorrow?
And are ye not my senses also wrested
From your right course, resting not euen nor morrow?
How know I then, weepe, see, or feele this hower,
When torments waste their force and seuerall power?

Who made my Shepherdesses tresses twistall
Of fine Arabian gold, not gilt-like shining:
Her face of cleerest and of chosen christall,
Her rubie lips, two rowes of pearle combining:
Her dymond eies, like to those stars aboue all,
Her necke, that whitest Allablaster stayneth,
Her passing wit, inforcing vs to loue all:
Her stately minde, that all our loues disdaineth.
Why made shee not her hart of melting matter,
Then of such marble stone so hard to batter?

One day I do conforme me to my fortune,
And to my griefe, that faire Diana causeth:
Next day mine yll doth vex me, and importune
My soule with thoughts of griefe that seldome pauseth:
Cruell and fierce and inhumane I call her,
And so there is no order in my sorrow:
For afterwards in phrases I install her,
What now I say, I do deny to morrow.
And all is thus leading a life in anguish,
Which soone mine eies may see by death to languish.

[Goe now my thoughts, where one day you were going]

Goe now my thoughts, where one day you were going,
When neither fortune, nor my loue did lower:
Now shall you see that changed day and hower,
Your ioies decaied, and vncouth sorrowes growing?
And in the glasse, where I was oft bestowing
Mine eies, and in that sweete and pleasant flower,

A sluggish drone vnwoorthely deuower
That honie, which for me sometimes was flowing.
And you shall see to whom I did surrender
My subiect life, that causelesse did despise it:
And though this ill no remedy can borrow,
Yet tell her, that my minde did once ingender
A feare of that, vvhich after to mine eyes yet
She makes more plaine, to end my life in sorrow.

[Contents of loue]

Contents of loue,
That come with so great paine,
If that you come, why go you hence againe?

Not fully come,
But you begin to starte:
Neuer with perfect some
To nestle in a woefull heart.
And will you now so soone depart,
And leaue me in such paine?
Then hence delights, and see me not againe.

From you I flye,
(Since you denie my sight)
To make me know thereby
The losse, if that I loose you quite.
Then (since you do me such despite)

Depart not griefe and paine,
For when you goe, you soone returne againe.

The song of the Nymph.

Neere to the riuer bankes, with greene
And pleasant trees on euery side,
Where freest mindes would most haue beene,
That neuer felt braue Cupids pride,
To passe the day and tedious how'rs
Amongst those painted meades and flow'rs.

A certaine Shepheard full of woe
(Syrenus call'd) his flockes did feede,
Not sorowfull in outward showe,
But troubled with such greefe indeede,
As cruell loue is wont t'impart
Vnto a painfull louing hart.

This Shepherd euery day did die
For loue he to Diana bare,
A Shepherdesse so fine perdie,
So liuely yoong and passing faire,
Excelling more in beautious feature,
Then any other humane creature.

Who had not any thing, of all
She had, but was extreme in her,
For meanely wise none might her call,
Nor meanely faire, for he did erre,
If so he did: but should deuise
Her name of passing faire and wise.

Fauours on him she did bestowe,
Which if she had not, then (be sure)
He might haue suffred all that woe,
Which afterwards he did endure
When he was gone, with lesser paine,
And at his comming home againe.

For when in deede the hart is free
From suffring paine or torments smart,
If wisedome doth not ouersee,
And beareth not the greater part,
The smallest greefe and care of minde
Doth make it captiue to their kinde.

Neere to a riuer swift and great
(That famous Ezla had to name)
The carefull Shepherd did repeate
The feares he had by absence blame,
Which he suspect, where he did keepe
And feede his gentle lambes and sheepe.

And now sometimes he did behold
His Shepherdesse, that thereabout
Was on the mountaines of that old
And ancient Leon, seeking out
From place to place the pastures best,
Her lambes to feede, her selfe to rest.

And sometimes musing, as he lay,
(When on those hils she was not seene)
Was thinking of that happy day,
When Cupid gaue him such a Queene
Of beautie, and such cause of ioy,
Wherein his minde he did imploy.

Yet saide (poore man) when he did see
Himselfe so sunke in sorrowes pit,
The good that loue hath giuen mee
I onely doe imagine it:
Bicause this neerest harme and trouble
Hereafter I should suffer double.

The Sunne, for that it did decline,
The carelesse man did not offend
With firie beames, which scarce did shine,
But that which did of loue depend,
And in his hart did kindle fire
Of greater flames and hot desire.

Him did his passions all inuite,
The greene leaues blowne with gentle winde,
Cristalline streames with their delite,
And Nightingales were not behinde,
To helpe him in this louing verse,
Which to himselfe he did rehearse.

Syrenus his song.

A farewell they departure call,
That loues delight did neuer knowe,
But that that endes with life and all,
I terme a greefe and endlesse woe.

God graunt therefore that all that space
My lingring life I might sustaine,
Vntill I see againe the place
Where my true hart doth still remaine.

For onely thinking to depart,
The thought doth make me so afraid,
That it must kill my trembling hart
With force of such great greefe apaid.

Syrenus did these verses sing,
And on his Rebecke sweetely play,
So far from ioy or ioyfull thing,
And from contentment any way:
That he could not pronounce his minde
For weeping, which was left behinde.

And now bicause he would not be
In fault, (if that his greefe and paine
The accents and the verse, which he
Pronounc't, did hinder or restraine)
That which his willing minde did let,
His hart to end did not forget.

But after that the Shepherd had
With moornefull voice these verses soong,

He sawe Diana come so sad,
And yet so faire, so fresh and yong,
That where she cast her starlike eies,
With colours braue the meades she dies.

Her face as faire and fresh as flower,
And yet so sorrowfull againe,
That none could iudge at that same hower,
Whether her greefe and inward paine,
Or her braue beautie did surpasse?
In her so faire, and sad (alas.)

Thus comming many a time she staide,
Casting vnto the ground her eies,
So comfortlesse and so dismade,
And sometimes vp into the skies,
That there they hung with greefe in steede
Of two bright stars, like stars in deede.

Saying with greater greefe of minde
(Then humane thought can once conceaue)
Since such annoy in ioy I finde:
From this day (loue) well maist thou leaue
Thy ioies vnto thy selfe to keepe,
And me, to feede no more but sheepe.

The cause of all her greefe and woe,
Which she by absence wrong did feare,
There did she very cleerely showe,
And if she wasted many a teare,
Aske but those blasing eies, which still
With passions did Syrenus kill.

If that her loue had euer peere,
Her goodnes there hid not the same:
And if that absence cost her deere,
Or feared her before it came,
This song aboue each other thing
Can tell, which she with teares did sing.

Dianas song.

O Loue thou gau'st me not the ioy,
That in sweete presence I did finde,
But that in absence the annoy
Should seeme more greeuous to my minde.

Thou giuest ease, thou giuest rest,
But not to giue content but guile,

And that the suffrance in my brest,
Might be but idle for a while.

See loues inuentions, neuer scant
In presence to affoord releefe,
Bicause in absence I should want
Defence against my mortall greefe.

Now faire Diana being come
Vnto the place, where she did spie
Her loue, she would haue spoken some
Few wordes, but greefe did them denie:
And wofull man, he nothing spake,
Though he did oft a semblant make.

How much they had betweene them both
To talke, their eies made manifest,
Declaring that, which very loth
Lay in their secret harts and brest,
With that milde countenance and show,
With which they spake not long agoe.

They both together downe did sit
Vnder a flowrie Myrtle tree,
One by the hand the other yet
Did take, for ouer come was he
By her, and she by him againe,
Both in their mutuall passions slaine.

For that great pleasure and delight
Of seeing one an other there,
And greefe, to leese that happie sight,
So wrought their harts with ioy and feare,
That to each other neither could
Vtter a word, though faine they would.

Some other times they met againe
Vpon this banke with other passions,
Which meetings they did entertaine
And celebrate with other fashions:
Not, as in times then gone and past,
For of this sort, this was the last.

A strange effect of mighty loue,
To see two loue in such degree,
That greater torments they did proue,
When either did each other see,
Then when they were remooued quite
From ioying in each others sight.

Syrenus seeing now the howre,
When greefe of parting was to come,
He had no patience nor no powre
To speake, but straight was striken dumbe:
Nor of his teares he could get leaue
To vtter what he did conceaue.

His Shepherdesse he did behold,
His Shepherdesse beheld againe
The man, whose hart with feare was cold,
Speaking to her with cruell paine:
Indeede his Greefe for him did speake,
For he could not whose hart did breake.

Alas Diana, who would haue said,
When I was in most heauie case,
Or who would haue imagined,
But that, when I did view thy face,
My very soule then most opprest,
Should by that sight haue found some rest.

In any time who would haue thought,
That any thing (sweete Mistresse) might
A greater greefe or paine haue brought
Vnto my soule with more despight,
Then thy sweete presence and thy sight,
(My soueraine ioy and chiefe delight)

Who would haue thought, but that againe
Those eies, when that they viewed me,
Should haue dissolu'd, and burst in twaine
The knot of all my miserie:
Which my mishaps (so long assured)
By any way might haue procured.

Faire Mistresse then behold my state,
And how mishap my soule doth chace,
For if I died but of late
With great desire to see thy face,
Now doe I die by seeing thee
Present and not thou killest me.

And thinke not that this passion drawes
To want of louing thee, for none
Hath bene so firme, but now bicause
I come vnto this meade with mone
To take my leaue, where I before
To see thee came, but now no more.

My soule I would haue giuen faine
This day, which thou hast conquer'd soe,
Not to haue seene thee in this plaine
(Although no other life I knowe)
Onely to misse (I care not how)
The greefe of this departure now.

And giue me leaue (faire Shepherdesse)
To thinke, that thou canst not deny it,
But thou dost feele my heauinesse
In that degree, as I doe trie it:
For in thy presence t'is not such
A matter to presume so much.

If then, Diana, it be so,
Tell me, how can I now depart?
How dost thou suffer me to go
When each doth carry others hart?
Or how doe I come hither yet,
To take my farewell without let?

O my faire Shepherdesse againe
No reason can I yeeld thee why,
Nor how of thee I should complaine,
As thou shalt haue continually
Absent, when I am gone from thee
O, neuer to remember me.

I knowe right well it is not thow,
That mak'st me to depart, and lesse,
My purest faith constraines me now,
(For needes I must the same confesse)
And if I should but tell and show it,
Who doth the same, I doe not know it.

Thus full of paine and bitter teares,
And sighing, which he neuer spar'd,
The Shepherd to her louing eares
Did speake these words which you haue heard.
And hearing them, in minde she kept
Them, and full bitterly she wept.

To answere him she went about
A thousand times, but could not doe it,
For still her greefe did put her out,
And so she could not frame her to it.
But then for her, her loue so stable
An answere shapt (her toong vnable.)

My friend in such a time I am,
Where I shall speake more then I would,
That though mine ill, which lately came
Cannot be vttered (as it should:)
Yet (Shepherd) would I thinke it good,
To hold my peace if that I could.

But woe is me, that this great ill
I come to tell, and publish it
In such a time against my will,
That it auailes not any whit
Thy iourney to delay a while,
Nor these my torments to beguile.

Why goest thou hence (O Shepherd) tell:
Why wilt thou now forsake me heere?
So full of greefe alone to dwell,
Where time, and place, and all the deere,
And sweetest ioyes of this our loue
Shall neuer from my minde remooue.

What shall I feele (vnhappy wight)
Comming vnto this pleasant greene,
When I shall say (Farewell sweete sight)
Heere haue I my Syrenus seene;
Heere did we sit, heere did we play,
Discoursing with him day by day.

Behold if that it will not bee
A daily sorrow, when these bankes
I doe beholde, and cannot see
Thy selfe, where goodly trees in rankes
And in their barke my name to stand
Carued so finely by thy hand.

And see if any greefe or dole
Is like to this, when I behold
The place so sorrowfull and sole,
Where deere Syrenus with a cold
And trembling feare thou didst protest
Thy greefe to me within thy brest.

If then thy hart (so cruell now)
Is mollified by falling teares,
How melts it not for greefe, and how
Consumes it not with many feares,
At this occasion (so vniust)
To leaue my comfort in the dust?

Then Shepherd weepe not, for in vaine
Thy plentious teares and sighes are spent,
For he that doth lament the paine,
In whom it lieth to preuent,
I thinke he is not sound of wit,
If such a folly he commit.

But my Syrenus pardon me,
If my sharpe wordes thine eares offend,
And giue me leaue to speake with thee
In this faire meade, where (cruell frend)
Thou leau'st me not one little how'r
With my poore selfe, nor in my pow'r.

For I will not, (nor yet in iest)
Shepherd from thee my selfe absent,
Then goe not, wilt thou? say at lest,
And to these eies, that euer lent
Such helpe to thee, some pitie keepe,
And sorrow now to see them weepe.

Syrenus answered her againe,
Alas thou canst not choose but knowe.
By all these teares I spend in vaine,
If that I doe desire to goe;
But thou commaundest me to stay,
And my hard hap to goe away.

Thy matchlesse beautie when I see,
(Mistresse) then am I euer bound
Willing at thy commaund to be:
But wofull Shepherd when I found
My hap to beare so great a sway,
Of force I must the same obay.

Then my departure forced is,
But by no fault that I did make,
And credit me (sweete Nymph) in this,
That all the world I would forsake,
In these faire meades with thee to wende,
Where now I see my ioyes doe ende.

My Master that great Shepherd is
He, that doth make me to depart,
Whom I may see, and wish that his
Exempted thoughtes and freest hart
Braue loue may punish with such paine,
As at this parting I sustaine.

I would to God, my going hence
(Onely to pleasure thee this day)
By shewing of my iust pretence,
Lay in my power anyway:
As Mistresse in thy fairest handes
My life and death at mercie standes.

But credit me, it is in vaine,
(To that which euer I doe trie,
And that thou think'st as much againe)
That neuer in my handes did lie
Ought in the world, that might but giue
Any content to make me liue.

Another course well might I take,
And leaue my flocke to stray about,
I might my Shepherd to forsake
And seeke some other Master out:
But if the end I marke and see,
This with our loue doth not agree.

For if I doe forsake my flocke,
Which vnto me he did commend,
And take in hand some other stocke
Of cattell or of sheepe to tend,
Tell me, how can I come vnseene
Without thy harme vpon this greene?

And if the force of this great flame
My willing presence heere detaines,
It is a signe, that I doe frame
My thoughts on thee, and so it staines
Thy honour, which to saile is sent,
Onely (sweetelife) for my content.

And if (they say) I doe imploy
(Faire Shepherdesse) my loue on thee,
And that againe I doe enioy
Thy loue so frankly giuen me.
Thee they condemne, thou dost sustaine
The onely losse, and I no gaine.

The Shepherdesse at this same season
This answer with great greefe did make,
O Shepherd tell me now, what reason
Thou hast my presence to forsake?
Since that in loue there is no sound
Of any reason to be found.

A signe it is (not good to vse)
By daily proofe we see the same,
That he that can so well excuse
His absence from his louing dame,
If he were gone out of her sight,
He would account the same but light.

Ah greefe, since going now away,
I knowe not what will chaunce to thee,
And forced if I am to stay
Nor then what shall become of me?
Nor there if thou wilt thinke (my deere)
That one did see another heere.

I knowe not if I am deceau'd,
By hauing laide before thine eies
This painfull greefe that hath bereau'd
Me of my ioy, where now it dies,
But that which to my harme must be,
I knowe shall be most sure in me.

Thou greeu'st not at my little ease,
Go Shepherd then, take shipping now,
With brittle barke the Ocean seas,
In steede of these greene fieldes goe plow:
Since of my teares these seas (alas)
So quickly thou dost ouerpasse.

The heauens from stormes thy barke defend,
From rockes, from wrecke, and swallowing sand,
And that thou mai'st (my sweetest frend)
Safely arriue in wished land:
And fortune better deale with thee,
Then at this time thou dost with me.

Alas for very greefe I die,
Seeing mine eies to take their leaue
Of all their sweete contents, whereby
This greefe, and teares doe so bereaue
My toong of speech, that faine I would
Speake more vnto thee if I could.

And Shepherd I doe wish besides,
That these two eies (which weepe in vaine)
Before that death my life deuides,
May see thee heere yet once againe:
And though their harme thou dost procure,
They wish thee yet all good be sure.

He answered her, my Mistresse deere,
A mischeefe neuer comes alone:
A mortall greefe doth not appeere
Without more companie, and one
That is more mightie then the rest,
And this it is that wounds my brest.

For though I see I must depart
From my sweete life, (since from thy sight)
Not halfe so much it greeues my hart,
As seeing thee in such a plight
For my departure, and sustaine
Such greefe indeede and cruell paine.

But if those eies I doe forget,
(The mirrours of my happinesse)
I wish that God aboue may let
Me not this wished life possesse,
Or if my thoughtes imploied be
(Sweete life) on any but on thee.

And if that any beautie else
Shall make new motions in my minde,
(Though it be neuer so excelse)
Or in the same content I finde,
For one small howre of such content,
I wish eternall punishment.

And if my firmest faith for strange
And forren loue, that may befall,
Or my sincerest loue I change,
I wish that fortune may recall
Me to a life most desperate,
Throwing me downe from this estate.

O sweetest Mistresse of my hart,
Prescribe no time for my retourne:
For it doth kill me to depart,
And I shall neuer cease to mourne,
And passe the greatest greefe and paine,
Vntill these eies see thee againe.

She answered him, (my deere Syrenus)
If that I shall in any day
(Though now our destinies doe weane vs)
Forget thee, then I wish the May
And freshest flowers in this meade
May die, when on them I doe treade.

And if on any man aliue,
But onely thee (my loue) I thinke,
I wish, that, (when my sheepe I driue
Vnto the riuer streames to drinke)
Comming vnto them, at my sight,
The waters may be dry'd vp quite.

Shepherd, receiue this little string
Made of my haire for thy sweete sake,
Bicause by seeing of the thing,
Thou maist remember thou did'st take
Possession of my louing hart,
And them, with which thou deest depart.

And this ring with thee thou shalt beare,
With hand in hand, as thou dost see,
Which for my sake I pray thee weare,
That though our bodies parted bee,
Nothing shall part, not death alone,
Two soules vnited both in one.

He saide with thee what shall I leaue,
Naught haue I but this Sheepehooke heere:
The which I pray thee to receiue,
And Rebecke, to the which (my deere)
Thou saw'st me sing in this greene meade,
And play and many a daunce to leade.

To sound of which (my Shepherdesse)
A thousand songs to thee I soong,
Singing of thy great worthinesse
(Too high for my base song and toong)
And of our loues and of my passions,
And of my sweetest lamentations.

Each one imbrac't the other fast,
And this (I thinke) the first time was,
And (as I gesse) it was the last,
Bicause those times did change and passe:
And loue with time did change and varie
From that, which once they both did carie.

For though Diana felt great paine
For absence of her louer deere,
Yet in the same she found againe
A remedie, as did appeere,
For after he the seas did passe,
She to another married was.

[O grant me then this short content]

O grant me then this short content,
For forc'd I am to thee to flie:
My sighes do not make thee relent,
Nor teares thy hart do mollifie.

Nothing of mine doth giue thee payne,
Nor thou think'st of no remedie:
Mistresse how long shall I sustaine
such ill, as still thou dost applie?

In death there is no helpe, be sure,
But in thy will, where it doth lie:
For all those illes which death doth cure,
Alas, they are but light to trie:

My troubles do not trouble thee,
Nor hope to touch thy soule so nie:
O from a will that is so free,
What should I hope, when I do crie?

How can I mollifie that braue
And stonie hart, of pittie drie?
Yet Mistresse turne those eies (that haue
No peeres) shining like stars in skie:

But turne them not in angrie sort,
If thou wilt not kill me thereby:
Though yet in anger, or in sport,
Thou killest onely with thine eie.

A Sonnet.

[My painefull yeeres impartiall Loue was spending]

My painefull yeeres impartiall Loue was spending
In vaine and booteles hopes my life appaying,
And cruell Fortune to the world bewraying
Strange samples of my teares that haue no ending.
Time euerie thing to truth at last commending,
Leaues of my steps such markes, that now betraying
And all deceitfull trusts shall be decaying,
And none haue cause to plaine of his offending.
Shee, whom I lou'd to my obliged power,
That in her sweetest loue to me discouers
Which neuer yet I knew (those heauenly pleasures,)
And I do saie, exclaiming euery hower,
Do not you see, what makes you wise, O Louers?
Loue, Fortune, Time, and my faire Mystresse treasures.

A Song.

[That sweetest harme I doe not blame]

That sweetest harme I doe not blame,
First caused by thy fairest eies,
But greeue, bicause too late I came,
To know my fault, and to be wise.

I neuer knew a worser kinde of life,
To liue in feare, from boldnesse still to cease:
Nor woorse then this, to liue in such a strife,
Whether of both, to speake, or holde my peace?

And so the harme I doe not blame,
Caused by thee, or thy faire eies:
But that to see how late I came,
To knowe my fault, and to be wise.

I euer more did feare, that I should knowe
Some secret things, and doubtfull in their kinde,
Bicause the surest things doe euer goe
Most contrarie vnto my wish and minde.

And yet by knowing of the same,
There is no hurt, But it denies
My remedie, Since late I came,
To knowe my fault, and to be wise.

[My passion (Loue) thou dost disdaine]

My passion (Loue) thou dost disdaine,
But God keepe thee from such a paine.
I am of Loue disdained,
And Fortunes wheele doth broose me,
I care not now to loose me,
And hope not to be gained.
So care to care is chained
By Fortune and by Loue againe:
But God keepe thee from such a paine.

In playntes Loue entertained
My hart (such sport to choose me)
And fortune thus vndooes me,
To make me thinke vnfained,
That Time a change maintained,
But Both do still my greefes ordaine,
But God keepe thee from such a paine.

[Saie Shepherdesse, what hath depriued thee]

Saie Shepherdesse, what hath depriued thee
Of curtesie and ioy,
Since that so merrie thou were wount to be?

The deere remembrance of my passed gladnes
In middes of all my present greefe and paine,
Woe to my soule, that feeles it with such sadnes,
If long in such a state it doth remaine:
And since that time hath changed (to be plaine)
A Shepherd to offend and trouble me,
Merrie and pleasant I could neuer be.

[Mistresse thou hast forgotten me]

Mistresse thou hast forgotten me,
But more I loue and honor thee.

Haples, I see I am forgot,
And yet I know no reason why,
To whom thy faith thou dost apply.
And tak'st from whom thou dost not wot:
Being belou'd, he loues thee not,
And Mistresse thou dost not loue me,
But more I loue and honor thee.

Me thinkes I do behold with pride
Those eies (my ioyes not long ago)
And for thou wilt not seeme so,
Thy fairest face from me dost hide:
And that I saie to thee, beside,
Mistresse lift vp those eies to me,
For more I loue and honor thee.

The end of the second booke of Diana.