 | Englands Helicon |  |
The Sheepheards dumpe.
Like desart Woods, with darksome shades obscured,
Where dreadfull beasts, where hatefull horror raigneth,
Such is my wounded hart, whom sorrow paineth.
Where dreadfull beasts, where hatefull horror raigneth,
Such is my wounded hart, whom sorrow paineth.
The Trees are fatall shafts, to death inured,
That cruell loue within my hart maintaineth,
To whet my greefe, when as my sorrow waineth.
That cruell loue within my hart maintaineth,
To whet my greefe, when as my sorrow waineth.
The ghastly beasts, my thoughts in cares assured,
Which wadge me warre, whilst hart no succour gaineth,
With false suspect, and feare that still remaineth.
Which wadge me warre, whilst hart no succour gaineth,
With false suspect, and feare that still remaineth.
The horrors, burning sighs, by cares procured,
Which foorth I send, whilst weeping eve complaineth,
To coole the heate the helplesse hart containeth.
Which foorth I send, whilst weeping eve complaineth,
To coole the heate the helplesse hart containeth.
But shafts, but cares, sighs, horrors vnrecured,
Were nought esteem'd, if for their paines awarded:
Your Sheepheards loue might be by you regarded.
Were nought esteem'd, if for their paines awarded:
Your Sheepheards loue might be by you regarded.
FINIS.
S. E. D.
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