¶ Menaphon to Pesana. +
F Aire fields proud Floraes vaunt +, why i’st you smile, when as I languish? You golden Meades, why striue you to beguile my weeping anguish? (5) I liue to sorrow, you to pleasure spring, why doo ye spring thus? What, will not Boreas tempests wrathfull King, take some pitty on vs? And send forth Winter in her rustie weede, (10) to waile my bemoanings: While I distrest doo tune my Country Reedevnto my groanings. But heauen and earth, time, place, and euery power, haue with her conspired: (15) To turne my blisfull sweete to balefull sower, since I this desired. The heauen whereto my thoughts may not aspire, aye me vnhappie: It was my fault t’imbrace my bane the fire (20) that forceth me die. Mine be the paine, but hers the cruell cause, of this strange torment: Wherefore no time my banning prayers shall pause. till proud she repent.
FINIS. Ro. Greene.