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As she sung, (20) I did sigh, And by sighs whilst that I tride her, Oh mine eyes You did loose, her first sight whose want did paine you. (25) Phæbes flocks White as wooll, yet were Phæbes lookes more whiter, Phæbes eyes Doue-like mild, (30) Doue-like eyes both mild and cruell, Montane sweares In your Lamps, he will die for to delight her, Phæbe yeeld (35) Or I die, shall true harts be fancies fuell?

FINIS. Thom. Lodge.

¶ The complaint of Thestilis the forsaken Sheepheard. +

T Hestilis a silly Swaine, when Loue did him forsake, In mournfull wise amid the woods, thus gan his plaint to make. Ah wofull man (quoth he) falne is thy lot to mone, And pine away with carefull thoughts, vnto thy Loue vnknowne. (5) Thy Nimph forsakes thee quite, whom thou didst honour so: That aye to her thou wert a friend, but to thy selfe a foe. Ye Louers that haue lost your harts-desired choyce: Lament with me my cruell hap, and helpe my trembling voyce. Was neuer man that stoode so great in Fortunes grace, (10) Nor with his sweate (alas too deere) possest so high a place: As I whose simple hart, aye thought himselfe still sure, But now I see high springing tides, they may not aye endure. +