University of Virginia Library


305

VII Tityrus to his Faire Phillis.

The silly swaine whose loue breeds discontent,
Thinkes death a trifle, life a loathsome thing,
Sad he lookes, sad he lies.
But when his Fortune's mallice doth inuent,
Then of Loue's sweetnes he will sweetly sing,
Thus he liues, thus he dies.
Then Tityrus whom Loue hath happy made,
Will rest thrice happy in this mirtle shade
For though Loue at first did greeue him:
Yet did Loue at last releeue him.
I.D.