Farewell sweete Loue, thy like nere was, For sweete content, the cause of all my moane: (35) Poore Coridon must liue alone, Other helpe for him, I see that there is none.
¶ Another of the same Sheepheards. +
A S it fell vpon a day, In the merry moneth of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade, Which a groue of Mirtles made. (5) Beasts did leape, and birds did sing, Trees did grow, and plants did spring. Euery thing did banish moane, Saue the Nightingale + alone. Shee poore bird, as all forlorne, (10) Lean’d her breast against a thorne, And there sung the dolefull’st Ditty, +That to heare it was great pitty. Fie, fie, fie, now would she crie Teru, Teru, + by and by. (15) That to heare her so complaine, Scarse I could from teares refraine. For her greefes so liuely showne, Made me thinke vpon mine owne. Ah (thought I) thou mourn’st in vaine, (20) None takes pitty on thy paine. Sencelesse trees, they cannot heare thee, Ruthlesse beasts, they will not cheere thee. King Pandion + he is dead, All thy friends are lapt in Lead. (25) All thy fellow birds doo sing, Carelesse of thy sorrowing.