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¶ The Sheepheard Damons passion. +

A H trees, why fall your leaues so fast? Ah Rocks, where are your roabes of mosse? Ah Flocks, why stand you all agast? Trees, Rocks, and Flocks, what, are ye pensiue for my losse?
(5) The birds me thinks tune naught but moane, The winds breath naught but bitter plaint: The beasts forsake their dennes to groane, Birds, winds, and beasts, what, dooth my losse your powers attaint?
Floods weepe their springs aboue their bounds, (10) And Eccho wailes to see my woe: The roabe of ruthe dooth cloath the grounds, Floods, Eccho, grounds, why doo 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 consort.

FINIS. Thom. Lodge.

¶The Sheepheard Musidorus his complaint. +

C Ome Sheepheards weedes, become your Maisters minde, Yeeld outward shew, what inward change he tries: Nor be abash’d, since such a guest you finde, Whose strongest hope in your weake comfort lies. (5) Come Sheepheards weedes, attend my wofull cries, Disuse your selues from sweete Menalcas voyce: For other be those tunes which sorrow ties,