| SHE fell away in her first ages spring, | |
| Whil'st yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde, | |
| And whil'st her braunch faire blossomes foorth did bring, | |
| She fell away against all course of kinde. | |
| For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong; | 5 |
| She fel away like fruit blowne downe with winde. | |
| Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong. | |
| |
| Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye, | |
| Ne dyde with dread and grudging discontent, | |
| But as one toyld with travaile downe doth lye, | 10 |
| So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she went, | |
| And closde her eyes with carelesse quietnesse; | |
| The whiles soft death away her spirit hent, | |
| And soule assoyld from sinfull fleshlinesse. | |
| |
| How happie was I when I saw her leade | 15 |
| The Shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd! | |
| How trimly would she trace and softly tread | |
| The tender grasse, with rosie garland crownd! | |
| And when she list advance her heavenly voyce, | |
| Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made astownd, | 20 |
| And flocks and shepheards causèd to rejoyce. | |
| |
| But now, ye Shepheard lasses! who shall lead | |
| Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes? | |
| Or who shall dight your bowres, sith she is dead | |
| That was the Lady of your holy-dayes? | 25 |
| Let now your blisse be turnèd into bale, | |
| And into plaints convert your joyous playes, | |
| And with the same fill every hill and dale. | |
| |
| For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage, | |
| Throughout the world from one to other end, | 30 |
| And in affliction wast my better age: | |
| My bread shall be the anguish of my mind, | |
| My drink the teares which fro mine eyed do raine, | |
| My bed the ground that hardest I may finde; | |
| So will I wilfully increase my paine. | 35 |
| |
| Ne sleepe (the harbenger of wearie wights) | |
| Shall ever lodge upon mine ey-lids more; | |
| Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting sprights, | |
| Nor failing force to former strength restore: | |
| But I will wake and sorrow all the night | 40 |
| With Philumene, my fortune to deplore; | |
| With Philumene, the partner of my plight. | |
| |
| And ever as I see the starres to fall, | |
| And under ground to goe to give them light | |
| Which dwell in darknes, I to minde will call | 45 |
| How my fair Starre (that shinde on me so bright) | |
| Fell sodainly and faded under ground; | |
| Since whose departure, day is turnd to night, | |
| And night without a Venus starre is found. | |
| |
| And she, my love that was, my Saint that is, | 50 |
| When she beholds from her celestiall throne | |
| (In which shee joyeth in eternall blis) | |
| My bitter penance, will my case bemone, | |
| And pitie me that living thus doo die; | |
| For heavenly spirits have compassion | 55 |
| On mortall men, and rue their miserie. | |
| |
| So when I have with sorowe satisfide | |
| Th' importune fates, which vengeance on me seeke, | |
| And th' heavens with long languor pacifide, | |
| She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke, | 60 |
| Will send for me; for which I daylie long: | |
| And will till then my painful penance eeke. | |
| Weep, Shepheard! weep, to make my undersong! | |
