[XXII. Cruell Pabrilla with thine angrie looke]
Cruell
Pabrilla with thine angrie looke
Cruell
Pabrilla with thine angrie looke,
Thou euer, euer hold'st my soule in alteration, And of the
pleasure that I whilome, and of the pleasure that I whilome tooke,
In my faire flockes, thy threats are depriuation,
Thee I more loue then hill or valley brooke, valley, valley brooke,
Or thriftie, thriftie, thriftie shadow, shadow, my flocks delectation, But yet my
sight, but yet my sight more hatefull is to thee,
Then thornes or nettles to thy white feet be.
