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The Sheepheard Carillo his Song.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Sheepheard Carillo his Song.

Guarda mi las Vaccas
Carillo, por tu fe,
Besa mi Primero,
Yo te las guardare.

I pre-thee keepe my Kine for me
Carillo, wilt thou? Tell.
First let me haue a kisse of thee,
And I will keepe them well.
If to my charge or them to keepe,
Thou doost commend thy Kine or Sheepe,


For thee I doo suffise:
Because in this I haue beene bred,
But for so much as I haue fed
By viewing thee, mine eyes;
Commaund not me to keepe thy beast:
Because my selfe I can keepe least.
How can I keepe, I pre-thee tell,
Thy Kie, my selfe that cannot well
defend, nor please thy kinde
As long as I haue serued thee?
But if thou wilt giue vnto me
a kisse to please my minde:
I aske no more for all my paine,
And I will keepe them very faine.
For thee, the gift is not so great
That I doo aske, to keepe thy Neate,
but vnto me it is
A guerdon, that shall make me liue.
Disdaine not then to lend, or giue
so small a gift as this.
But if to it thou canst not frame:
Then giue me leaue to take the same.
But if thou doost (my sweet) denie
To recompence me by and by,
thy promise shall relent me:
Heere-after some reward to finde,
Behold how I doo please my minde,
and fauours doo content me,
That though thou speak'st it but in iest:
I meane to take it at the best.
Behold how much loue works in me,
And how ill recompenc'd of thee
that with the shadow of
Thy happy fauours (though delay'd)


I thinke my selfe right well appay'd,
although they prooue a scoffe.
Then pitty me, that haue forgot:
My selfe for thee, that carest not.
O in extreame thou art most faire,
And in extreame vniust despaire
thy cruelty maintaines:
O that thou wert so pittifull
Vnto these torments that doo pull
my soule with sencelesse paines,
As thou shew'st in that face of thine:
Where pitty and mild grace should shine.
If that thy faire and sweetest face
Assureth me both peace and grace,
thy hard and cruell hart:
Which in that white breast thou doo'st beare,
Dooth make me tremble yet for feare
thou wilt not end my smart.
In contraries of such a kinde:
Tell me what succour shall I finde?
If then young Sheepheardesse thou craue
A Heards-man for thy beast to haue,
with grace thou maist restore
Thy Sheepheard from his barren loue,
For neuer other shalt thou prooue,
that seekes to please thee more:
And who to serue thy turne, will neuer shun,
The nipping frost, and beames of parching Sun.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.