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The passionate Sheepheards Song.
On a day, (alack the day,)Loue whose moneth was euer May:
Spied a blossome passing faire,
Playing in the wanton ayre.
Through the veluet leaues the wind,
All vnseene gan passage find:
That the Sheepheard (sicke to death,)
Wish'd himselfe the heauens breath.
Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blow,
Ayre, would I might triumph so.
But alas, my hand hath sworne,
Nere to pluck thee from thy thorne.
Vow (alack) for youth vnmeete,
Youth so apt to pluck a sweete.
Thou for whom Ioue would sweare,
Iuno but an Æthiope were,
And deny him selfe for Ioue,
Turning mortall for my Loue.
FINIS.
W. Shakespeare.
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