University of Virginia Library

The Fourthe Booke or Acte.

[Who hathe hys Hyer, hathe Well his Laboure plaste]

Who hathe hys Hyer, hathe Well his Laboure plaste,
Earthe thow doste seeke and store of Earthe thow haste.

[O Nighte the ease of Care the pledge of pleasure]

O Nighte the ease of Care the pledge of pleasure,
Desyers best meane, Harvest of Hartes affected,
The seate of peace, the Throne whiche ys erected,
Of humane Lyfe to bee the quyett Measure.
Bee Victor still of Phebus golden Treasure.
Who hathe oure sighte, with too muche sight infected,
Whose Lighte ys Cause wee have oure Lyves neglected,
Turning all Natures Course to self displeasure.
These stately starres in theyre now shyning faces,
With slyly sleepe and Silence Wisdomes Mother,
Witness his wronge whiche by thy help ys eased,
Thow arte therefore of these oure Dezert places,
The sure Refuge by thee, and by none other.
My sowle ys blist, sence joyed, and fortune raysed.

[Synce wayling ys a budd of Causefull Sorrowe]

HERE BEGIN THE FOURTHE EGLOGUES.

[Yee goteheard Gods that love the grassy Mounteynes?]

Strephon. Klaius.
Strephon.
Yee goteheard Gods that love the grassy Mounteynes?
Yee Nymphes wch haunte the springes in pleasaunt valleys,
Yee Satyres joyed with free and quyet Forestes,
Vouchesafe youre sylent eares to playing Musick,
Whiche to my woes gives still an earely Morninge,
And Drawes the Dolor on till weary Eevening.

Klaius.
O Mercury, foregoer to the Eevening,
O heavenly Huntress of the Savage Mountaynes,
O Lovely Starr, entytled of the Morning,
(While that my voyce dothe fill these wofull valleys)
Vouchsafe youre silent eares to playing Musick,
Wch ofte hathe Echo tyred in secrett Forestes.

Strephon.
I that was once free Burgess of the Forestes
(Where shade from Sunn̄ and sporte I sought in Eevening)
I that was once esteemd for pleasaunt Musick,
And banisht now amongst the Monsterus Mountaynes,
Of huge Dispayre and fowle afflictions valleyes,
Am growne a Scriche Owle to my self eche morning.

Klaius.
I that was once delighted every morning,
Hunting the wylde Inhabiters of the Forestes,
I that was once the Musick of the valleyes,
So Darckened am, that all my day ys Eevening,
Hart broken so, that Mole hilles seeme hye Mounteynes,
And fill the valleyes wth Cryes in steade of Musick.

Strephon.
Longe synce, alas, my Deadly Swannish Musick,
Hathe made yt self a Cryer of the Morning,
And hathe with wayling strengthe clymed hyest Mountaynes,
Longe synce my thoughtes more Dezert bee then Forestes,
Longe synce I see my Joyes come to theyre Eevening,
And State throwne downe to every trodden valleys.

Klaius.
Longe synce the happy dwellers of these valleyes,
Have prayde mee leave my straunge exclaming Musick,
Whiche trubles theyre dayes worcke and Joyes of Eevening,
Longe since I hate the Nighte, more hate the Morning,
Longe synce my thoughtes chase mee like Beastes in Forestes
And make mee wish my self layde under Mountaynes.

Strephon.
Mee seemes I see the hye and stately Mountaynes,
Transforme them selves to Lowe dejected valleys,
Mee seemes I heare in these yll chaunged Forestes
The Nightingales do learne of Owles theyre Musick,
Mee seemes I feele ye Comfort of the Morning,
Turne to the Mortall Siren of an Eevening.

Klaius.
Mee seemes I see a filthy Clowdy Eevening,
Assoone as Sunn̄ begyns to clyme the Mountaynes,
Mee seemes I feele a Noysome sent the Morninge,
When I do smell the Flowers of the valleyes,
Mee seemes I heare (when I do heare sweete Musick)
The Dreadfull Cryes of Murdered men in Forestes.

Strephon.
I wish to fyre the trees of all these Forestes,
I give the Sunne a Last farewell eche eevening,
I Curse the fidling fynders oute of Musick,
With Envy I do hate the lofty Mountaynes,
And with Despyte do spyte the humble valleyes.
I Do detest Nighte, Eevening day and Morning.

Klaius.
Curse to myself my Prayer ys the Morninge,
My fyer ys more then can bee made with Forestes,
My estate more base, then ys the basest valleyes,
I wish no Eevening, more, to see eche eevening.
Shamed, I hate my self in sighte of Mountaynes,
And stopp myne Eares lest I growe Madd wth Musik.

Strephon.
For shee whose partes meyntayne a perfect Musick,
Whose bewtyes shyne more then the blusshing morninge,
Who muche did pass in state, the Stately Mountaynes,
In streightnes past the Caedars of the forrestes,
Hathe cast mee wretche into Eternall Eevening,
By taking her twoo Sunnes from these darck valleyes.

Klaius.
For shee with whome Comparde the Alpes are valleyes,
Shee whose Least worde bringes from the Spheares theyre Musick,
At whose approche the Sunne rase in the Eevening,
Who where shee went bare in her forehead Morning,
Ys gon̄ ys gon̄ from these oure spoyled Forestes,
Turning to Dezartes oure best pastured Mountaynes.

Strephon.
These Mountaynes witnes shall, so shall these valleyes,

Klaius.
These Forestes eeke made wretched by oure Musick,
Oure Morning Hymne this ys and Songe at Eevening.

Strephon.
I joy in greef and do detest all Joyes,
Despyse Delighte, and tyer with thoughtes of ease,
I turne my mynde to all Formes of Annoyes,
And with the Chaunge of them, my fancy please,
I Study that wch moste may mee displease,
And in Despite of that Displeasure mighte,
Embrace, that moste that moste my Sowle destroyes,
Blynded with Beames, fell Darcknes ys my sighte,
Dwell in my Ruyns, fedd with sucking smarte,
I thincke from mee, not from my woes to parte.

Klaius.
I thincke from mee, not from my woes to parte,
And lo this tyme calde Lyfe may thinck that lyfe,
Nature to mee, for Tormentes did imparte,
Thinck my hard happes have blunted Deathes sharp knyfe,
Not sparing mee in whome his worcke bee ryfe,
And thincking this thincke Nature lyfe and deathe,
Place, sorowes tryumphe, on my Conquerd hart,
Whereto I yeelde, and seeke no other breathe,
But from the sent of some infectious grave,
Nor of my fortune, oughte but mischeef crave.

Strephon.
Nor of my Fortune oughte but myscheef Crave,
And seeke to nourish that wch now contaynes,
All what I am, yf I my self will save,
Then must I save what in mee cheefly raynes,
Whiche ys the hatefull webb of sorowes paynes
Sorow then Cherish mee for I am Sorowe,
No beeyng now but Sorow I can have,
Then deck mee as thyne owne, thy help I borowe,
Synce thow Joy reckles arte, and that thow haste,
Inoughe to make a fertyle mynde lye waste.

Klaius.
Inoughe to make a fertile mynde lye waste,
Ys that huge storme wch powers yt self on mee,
Hayle stones of teares, of Sighes a Monsterus blast,
Thunders of Cryes, Lightninges my wylde Lookes bee.
The Darckened Heaven my Sowle wch nought can see,
The Flying spirites wch Trees by Rootes up teares,
Be those Dispayres wch have my hopes quite raste,
The Difference ys all Folckes those stormes forbeare,
But I can not, who then my self shoulde flee
So close unto my self my wrackes do lye.

Strephon.
So close unto my self my wrackes do lye,
Bothe Cause, Effect beginning and the ende,
All are in mee, what help then can I trye
My Shipp my self whose Course to Love dothe bend,
Sore beaten dothe her mast of Comfort spend
Her Cable Reason, breakes from Ancker Hope,
Fancy her Tackling, Torne away dothe flye,
Rwyn the wynde hathe blowne mee from her scope,
Brused with waves of Care, but broken ys
On Rock Dispayre the Buryall of my Blisse.

Klaius.
On Rock Dispayre, the Buryall of my Blisse,
I longe do plowe with plowe of Depe Desyer,
The seede fast meanyng ys no truthe to misse,
I harrowe yt with thoughtes wch all Conspyre,
Favoure to make my Cheef and onely hyer,
But woe ys mee the yeare ys gon̄ aboute,
And now I fayne woulde reape, I reape but this,
Hate fully growne, absence new spronge oute,
So that I see allthoughe my sighte empayre,
Vayne ys theyre payne, who Laboure in Dispayre.

Strephon.
Vayne ys theyre payne, who Laboure in Dispayre
For so did I when with myne Angle will,
I sought to catche the Fish Torpedo fayre
Even then Dispayre did hope all redy kill,
Yet Fancy wolde perforce employ his skill,
And this hathe gott the Catcher now hathe caught
Lamed with the Angle wch yt self did beare,
And unto Deathe, quite Drownde in Doloures brought,
To Deathe as then Disguysde in her fayre face,
Thus, thus, alas I had my Losse in Chace.

Klaius.
Thus, thus alas, I had my Losse in Chace,
When first that Crowned Basilik I knewe,
Whose Footsteppes I with kisses ofte did trace,
Till (by suche happ, as I must ever Rue)
Myne eyes did lighte uppon her shyning Hue,
And thus on mee astonisht with her sight,
Synce then my hart did Lose hys wonted place,
Infected so with her sweete poysons mighte
That Leaving mee for Deade to her yt went
But ah her flight hathe my Dead Reliques spent.

Strephon.
But ah her flight hathe my Deade Reliques spent,
Her flight from mee, from mee, though Dead to mee,
Yet Living still in her while her beames lent,
Suche vitall sparck, that her myne eyes might see,
But nowe these Living lightes absented bee,
(Full Deade before) I nowe to dust should falle
But that eternall paynes my sowle have hent,
And keepe yt still within this Body thralle.
That thus I must while in this Deathe I dwell,
In earthly fetters feele a Lasting hell.

Klaius.
In earthely fetters feele a Lasting hell,
Alas, I doo, from wch to fynde release,
I woulde the Earthe, I woulde the Heavens fell,
But vayne yt ys, to thincke those paynes shoulde Cease,
Wheare lyfe ys Deathe, and Deathe can not bringe peace,
O fayre, O onely fayre from thee alas,
These fowle moste fowle Desasters to my falle,
Since thow from mee, (O mee) O Sunn̄ didst pass.
Therefore esteeming all good blessinges Toyes,
I joyed in greef and do Detest all Joyes.

Strephon.
I joy in greef and do Detest all Joyes,
But now an ende, O Klaius now an ende,
For even the herbes oure hatefull Musick stroyes,
And from oure burning Breath the Trees doo bend.

[Now was oure Heavenly vaulte deprived of the Lighte]

Now was oure Heavenly vaulte deprived of the Lighte
With Sunnes Departe, and nowe the Darcknes of the Nighte,
Did light those Beamy starres wch greater light did Darcke,
Nowe eche thinge wch enjoyed that fyery quickning sparcke,
Whiche lyfe ys calde were mooved theyre Spirites to repose,
And wanting use of eyes, theyre eyes began to Close,
And silence sweete eche where with one Consent embraste,
(A Musick sweete to one in Carefull Musick plaste)
And Mother Earthe now cladd in Morning weedes did breathe,
A Dull desyer to kisse the Image of oure Deathe.
When I Disgraced wretche, not wretched then did give,
My sences suche Release, as they wch quyett live,
Whose braynes boyle not in woes, nor brestes wth beatinges ake,
With Natures prayse are wonte in safty home to take.
Farr from my thoughtes was oughte whereto theyre myndes aspire,
Who under Courtly pompes do hatche a base desyer.
Free all my powers were, from those Captiving snares,
Wch Heavenly purest giftes defyle in muddy Cares.
Ne coulde my sowle yt self accuse of suche a faulte,
As tender Conscyence mighte wth furyous panges assault,
But like the feeble Flower (whose stalke can not sustayne,
His weighty Topp) his Topp dothe downeward dropping leane.
Or as the silly Byrde in well acquaynted Nest
Dothe hyde his heade wth Cares, but onely howe to Rest.
So I in simple Course, and unitangled mynde,
Did suffer drowsy liddes myne eyes (then clere) to blynde.
And laying downe my heade, did natures Rule observe,
Whiche sences up dothe shutt, the senses to preserve.
They first theyre use forgatt, then fancy lost theyre force,
Till Deadly sleepe at lengthe possest my Living Corse.
A Living Corse I lay, but, ah my Wakefull mynde,
(Wch made of heavenly stuff, no mortall chaunge dothe bynde).
Flewe up with Freer winges, of Flesshly bondage free.
And having plaste my thoughtes, my thoughtes thus placed mee,
Mee thoughte, nay, sure I was, I was in fayrest wood,
Of Samothea Land, a Lande wch whilome stood,
An Honor to the Worlde, while Honor was theyre ende,
And while theyre Lyne of yeares they did in vertue spend.
But there I was; and there my Callmy thoughtes I fedd,
On Natures sweete repast, as helthfull sences ledd.
Her giftes my study was, her beutyes were my sporte,
My worcke her worckes to knowe, her Dwelling my Resort.
Those Lampes of Heavenly fyer to fixed motion bounde,
For ever turning Spheres the never mooving grounde.
What essence destny hathe yf fortune bee or no,
Whence oure Immortall sowles, to mortall Earthe doo flowe.
What Lyfe yt ys, and howe that all these Lyves do gather,
With owteward Makers force, or like an Inward Father.
Suche thoughtes (mee thought) I thought, and straynd my single mynde,
Then voyde of nerer Cares, the Depthes of thinges to fynde.
Who, Loe, wth hugest Noyse, suche noyse as Tower makes,
When yt (blowne up with myne) a falle of Rwyn takes.
Or suche a Noyse yt was, as hyest Thunders sende,
Or Canons thunder like all shott together lend.
The Moone a sunder rent (O Gods) o pardon mee,
That forste wth greef revayles what greeved eyes did see.
The Moone a sonder rent, whereat with sodeyn falle,
(More swifte then Faulcons stoope, to feeding Falconers calle).
There came a Charyott fayre by Doves and Sparowes guyded
Whose stormelike Course stayde not, till hard by mee yt byded
I wretche astonisht was, and thought the Deathfull Doome,
Of heaven of Earthe of hell of tyme and place was come.
But streight there issued forthe twoo Ladyes, (Ladyes sure,
They seemde to mee) on whome did wayte a virgyn pure,
Straunge were the Ladyes Weedes, yet more unfitt then straunge,
The first with Clothes tuckt up, as Nimphes in woodes do Range.
Tuckt upp even to the Knees, with Bowe and Arrowes prest,
Her Right arme naked was, discovered was her brest.
But hevy was her pace, and suche a Maigre cheare,
As litle hunting mynde (god knowes) did there appeare.
The other had with Arte (more then oure woemen knowe)
As stuff ment for the sale sett oute to glaring showe,
A wanton womans face, and wth Curlde knottes had twynde,
Her hayer wch by the help of Paynters Cunning shynde,
When I suche guests did see come oute of suche a howse,
The Mountaynes great wth Chylde I thought brought forthe a mowse.
But walking forthe, the first, thus to the seconde sayde,
Venus come on, (sayde shee) Diana yow are obayde,
Those Names abasht mee muche, when those great names I hearde,
All thoughe theyre fame (mee seemd) from truth had greatly jarrd.
As I thus musing stoode, Diana calde to her,
Her wayting Nymphe, a Nymphe, that did excell as farr,
All thinges that earst I sawe, as Oryent Perles exceede,
That wch theyre Mother highte, or else theyre silly seede.
In Deede a perfect Hue, in deede a sweete Consent,
Of all those graces giftes the Heavens have ever lent.
And so shee was attyrde, as one that did not pryze,
So muche her pereles partes, nor yet coulde them despize.
But calde she came apace, a pace wherein did moove,
The Band of Beutyes all the litle worlde of Love.
And bending humbled eyes (O eyes the Sunne of Lighte)
Shee wayted Mistrys will, who thus disclosde her spright
Sweete Mira myne (quoth shee) the pleasures of my mynde,
In whome of all my Rules the perfect proof I fynde,
To onely thee, (thow seest) wee graunt this speciall grace,
Us to attend in this moste private tyme and place.
Bee silent therefore, nowe, and so bee silent still,
Of what thow seest close up in secrett knott thy will.
Shee answerd was with looke and well performed behest,
And Mira I admirde, her shape, sancke in my brest.
But thus with Irefull eyes, and face that shoke with spyte,
Diana did begyn̄: What mooved mee to invite
Youre presence, Sister Dere, first to my moovy spheare,
And hether now vouchsafe to take with willing eare.
I knowe full well yow knowe, what discord long hathe raignd,
Betwixt us twoo how muche that discord fowle hathe stainde,
Bothe oure estates while eache the other did deprave,
Prooff speakes to muche to us, that feeling tryall have.
Oure names are quite forgott, oure Temples are Defaste
Oure offeringes spoylde, oure Preestes from Preesthood are displaste?
Ys this the fruite of stryfe, those thowsand Churches hye,
Those thowsand Alters fayre, now in the Dust to lye?
In mortall myndes oure myndes but Planetes names preserve,
No knee once bowed forsoothe, for them they say wee serve,
Are wee theyre Servauntes growne? no Doubt a Noble stay,
Celestiall powers to wormes Joves Children serve to play,
But suche they say wee bee, this prayse oure Discord bredd,
While wee for mutuall stryfe, a stryving passyon fedd.
But let us wyser bee, and what fowle discorde brake,
Somuche more stronge ageane let safest Concord make.
Oure yeares do yet requyer, yow see wee bothe doo feele,
The weykning work of tymes for ever whirling wheele.
All thoughe wee bee Devyne, oure Graundsire Saturn ys,
With ages force decayde, yet once the heven̄ was his.
And now before wee seeke by wyse Appollos skill,
Oure younge yeares to renewe (for so hee saithe hee will)
Lett us a perfect peace betuixt us twoo Resolve,
Whiche lest the Ruynous want of government dissolve,
Let one the Princes bee, to her the other yeelde,
(For vayne Equality ys but Contentions feelde)
And let her have the giftes that shoulde in bothe remayne,
In her lett Beuty bothe and Chastenes fully raigne.
So as yf I prevayle, yow give youre giftes to mee,
Yf yow, on yow I lay, what in my office bee.
Now resteth onely this, wch of us Twoo ys shee,
To whome precedentes shall of bothe accorded bee.
For that (so that yow like) hereby dothe lye a youthe,
(Shee beckened unto mee) as yet of spottless truthe.
Who may this Doubt discerne for better witt then Lott
Becometh us, in us, Fortune determyns nott.
This Crowne of Amber fayre, (an Amber Crowne shee helde)
To worthyest lett hym give, when bothe hee hathe beheld.
And bee yt as hee saythe, Venus was glad to heare,
Suche proffer made wch shee well shewde wth smyling chere,
As thoughe shee were the same, as when by Paris doome,
Shee had cheef Goddesses in beuty overcome.
And surely thus gan say, I never soughte debate,
Diana dere, my mynde to love and not to hate,
Was ever apte, but yow my pastymes did despyse,
I never spyted yow, but thought yow overwyse.
Nowe kyndenes proffered ys, none kynder ys then I,
And so moste redy am, this meane of peace to try.
And lett hym bee oure Judge: The Ladd dothe please mee well,
Thus bothe did come to mee and bothe began to tell.
(For bothe, together spake, eche lothe to bee behynde)
That they by solempne oathe theyre Deityes wold bynde,
To stand unto my will, theyre will they made mee knowe,
I that was first agast, when first I sawe theyre shawe
(Now boulder waxte) waxt prowde that I suche sway might beare,
For, nere acquayntance dothe diminish reverent feare.
And having bounde them fast by Stix, they shoulde obay,
To all what I decreed, did thus my verdict say.
How yll bothe yow can Rule, well hathe youre Discorde taughte,
Ne yet, (for oughte I see) youre Beutyes merit oughte.
To yonder Nymphe therefore, to Mira, I did poynt,
The Crowne above yow bothe, for ever I appoynt,
I woulde have spoken owte but oute they bothe did Crye,
Fye, Fye what have wee done, ungodly Rebell fye,
But nowe wee must needes yeelde to what oure Oathes requyre,
Yet thow shalt not goo free, (quoth Venus) suche a fyer,
Her Beuty kyndle shall within thy foolish mynde,
That thow full ofte shalt wish thy Judging eyes were blynde,
Nay, then (Diana sayde) thee Chastenes I will give,
In asshes of Dispayre, though burnt shall make thee live.
Nay, thow (sayde bothe) shalt see suche beames shyne in her face,
That thow shalt never dare seeke help of wretched Case.
And with that Cursed Curse, away to heavens they fledd,
First having all theyre giftes uppon fayre Mira spredd.
The Rest I can not tell, for therewithall I wakte,
And founde with Deadly feare that all my synewes shakte.
Was yt a Dreame? O Dreame how haste thow wrought in mee?
That I thinges earst unseene, shoulde first in Dreaming see.
And then (O Traytor sleepe) made for to bee oure Rest
Howe haste thow framde the payne wherewith I am opprest.
O Cowarde Cupide thus doest thow thy honor keepe?
Unarmde, alas unarmde to take a Man asleepe?

[Unto the Caytiff wretche whome long affliction holdeth]

Unto the Caytiff wretche whome long affliction holdeth;
And now fully beleeves help to bee quyte perisshed.
Graunt yet graunt yet a looke to the last monument of his anguish.
O, yow (alas so I fynde) Cause of his onely Rewyn.
Dread not a whitt (o goodly crewell) that pitty may enter,
Into thy hart by the sighte of this Epistle I sende.
And so refuse to beholde of these straunge woundes the Recitall,
Least yt might thee allure home to thy self to returne,
(Unto thyself I do meane those graces dwell so within thee,
Gratefullnes, sweetenes, Holylove, Harty regarde,)
Suche thinge can not I seeke, Dispayre hathe given mee my answer,
Despayre, moste tragicall Clause to a Deadly Request.
Suche thinge can not hee hope that knowes thy determinate hardnes,
Hard lyfe, a Riche Marble, hard, (but a fayre) Dyamond.
Can those eyes (that of eyes drownde in moste harty flowing teares,
Teares and Teares of a man had no returne to remorse,)
Can those eyes now yeelde to the kynde Conceypt of a Sorowe?
Whiche Inck onely Relates, but ne lamentes, ne Replyes,
Ah that I do not Conceyve, though that to mee Leefe were
More then Nestors yeares, more then a Kinges Dyadem.
Ah that I do not conceyve to the Heaven when a Mowse clymes
Then may I hope to atcheeve grace of a Heavenly Tygre.
But but alas like a Man Condempned dothe crave to bee heard speake,
Not that hee hopes for amendes of the Disaster hee feeles.
But, fynding thapproche of Deathe with an Inly relenting,
Gives an Adieu to the worlde, as to his onely delighte.
Right so my boyling harte enflamed wth fyre of a fayre eye,
Bubbling oute dothe breathe signes of his huge doloures
Nowe that hee fyndes to what ende his lyfe and love bee reserved
And that hee hence must parte, where, to Live, onely I lived,
O fayre, O fayrest, are suche the Tryumphes to thy fayrenes?
Can Deathe Bewty become? must I bee suche Monument?
Must I bee onely the Marck shall proove that Vertue ys angry?
Shall prove the fiercenes can with a white Dove abyde?
Shall to the worlde appeare, that faythe and Love bee Rewarded?
With mortall disdayne bent to unendly Revenge?
Unto Revenge, O sweete, on a wretch wilt thow bee Revenged,
As the offence ys done? and goo beyonde, yf hee can,
All my offence was Love, with Love then must I bee chastened,
And with more by the Lawes that to revenge do belonge.
Yf that Love bee a faulte, more faulte in yow to bee Lovely,
Love never had mee opprest, but that I sawe to bee Loved,
Yow bee the Cause that I love, what reason blameth a shadowe?
That with a Body yt goes, synce by a Body yt ys?
Yf the Love hate yow did, yow shoulde youre Beuty have hidden,
Yow shoulde those fayre eyes have wth a vayle covered.
But, Foole, Foole that I am, those eyes wolde shyne from a dark Cave?
What vailes then do prevayle, but to a more Mirackle?
Or those golden Lockes (those Lockes wch lock mee to bondage,
Torne), yow shoulde disperse unto the blastes of a wynde,
But, Foole, Foole that I am, tho I had but a hayer of her hed founde,
Eeven as I am, so I shoulde, unto that hayer bee a thrall,
Or with a fayre handes nayles (Oh hande wch nayles mee to deathe)
Yow shoulde have youre face (synce Love ys evell) blemysshed.
O, wretche, what did I say, shoulde that fayre face bee defaced?
Shoulde my too muche sight cause so true a Sunn̄ to bee lost?
First let Cymmerian Darcknes bee my only habitation,
First bee myne Eyes pulde oute, first bee my brayne perished
Ere I shoulde consent to doo suche excessive a Damage,
Unto the Earthe by the hurt of this her heavenly evell.
Oh, not. But suche Love yow say yow coulde have afforded,
As mighte learne Temperance voyde of outragius eventes
O sweete Simplicity, from whence shoulde Love bee so learned?
Unto Cupide that Boy shoulde a pendaunt bee founde?
Well, but faulty I was reason to my passyon yeelded,
Passyon unto my Rage, Rage to a hasty Revenge?
But, whatts this for a fault? for wch such faithe bee abolished?
Suche faythe so stayneless Inviolate, violent.
Shall I not Oh may I not thus yet refresh the Remembrance?
What sweete Joyes I had once, and what a place I did holde?
Shall I not once object that, yow, yow graunted a favoure?
Unto the Man whome now suche myseryes yow awarde?
Bende youre thoughtes to the Dere sweete wordes wch then to mee given were.
Thincke what a worlde ys now, thinck who hathe altered her hart.
What? was I then worthy of suche good? now worthy somuche evell?
Now fledd, then cherished, then so nye, now so remote?
Did not a Rosed Breathe from Lippes more Rosy proceeding,
Say, that I well shoulde fynde in what a Care I was hadd?
With muche more: Now, what do I fynde, but Care to abhorr mee?
Care, that I sinck in greef, Care, that I live banisshed.
And banisshed, doo I live? nor nowe wee seeke a Recovery,
Synce so shee will whose will ys to mee more then a Lawe,
Yf then a Man in moste evell Case may give yow a farewell,
Farewell, longe Farewell all my wooe all my Delighte.

[Since that to deathe ys gon̄ the Shepeheara hye]

[Farewell O Sunne, Arcadias clearest Lighte]