Floods weepe their springs aboue their bounds, (10) And Eccho wailes to see my woe: The roabe of ruthe doth cloath the grounds, Floods, Eccho, grounds, why doe ye all these teares |(bestow?
The Trees, the Rocks and Flocks replie, The Birds, the Winds, the Beasts report: (15) Floods, Eccho, grounds for sorrow crie, We greeue since Phillis nill kinde Damons loue con-||(sort.
FINIS. Thom. Lodge.
¶ The Shepheard Musidorus his complaint. +
C Ome Shepheards weedes, become your Masters mind, Yeeld outward shew, what inward change hee tries: Nor be abash’d, since such a guest you finde, Whose strongest hope in your weake comfort lies. (5) Come Shepheards weedes, attend my wofull cries, Disuse your selues from sweete Menalcas voyce: For other be those tunes which sorrow ties, From those cleare notes which freely may reioyce. Then poure out plaints, and in one word say this: (10) Helplesse his plaint, who spoiles him selfe of blisse.
FINIS. S. Phil. Sidney.