(5) Prais’d be her Nimphs, with whom she decks the woods, Prais’d be her Knights, in whom true honour liues: Prais’d be that force, by which she mooues the floods, Let that Diana shine which all these giues.
In heauen Queene she is among the Spheares, (10) She Mistresse-like makes all things to be pure: Eternity in her oft change she beares, She beauty is, by her the faire endure.
Time weares her not, she dooth his Chariot guide, Mortality below her Orbe is plast: (15) By her the vertue of the starres downe slide. In her is vertues perfect Image cast.
A knowledge pure it is her woorth to know: With Circes let them dwell, that thinke not so,
¶ The Sheepheards dumpe. +
L Ike desart Woods, with darksome shades obscured, Where dreadfull beasts, where hatefull horror raigneth, Such is my wounded hart, whom sorrow paineth.
The Trees are fatall shafts, to death inured, (5) That cruell loue within my hart maintaineth, To whet my greefe, when as my sorrow waineth.
The ghastly beasts, my thoughts in cares assured, Which wadge me warre, whilst hart no succour gaineth, With false suspect, and feare that still remaineth.
(10) The horrors, burning sighs, by cares procured, Which foorth I send, whilst weeping eye complaineth, To coole the heate the helplesse hart containeth.