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Sunne why doo’st thou goe so fast? Oh why doo’st thou make such hast? It is too early yet, So soone from ioyes to flit, (45) why art thou so vnkind? See my little Lambkins runne, Looke on them till I haue done, Hast not on the night, To rob me of her sight, (50) that liue but by her eyes. Alas, sweet Loue, we must depart, Harke, my dogge begins to barke, Some bodie’s comming neere, They shall not finde vs heere, (55) for feare of being chid. Take my Garland and my Gloue, Weare it for my sake my Loue, To morrow on the greene, Thou shalt be our Sheepheards Queene, (60) crowned with Roses gay.

FINIS. Mich. Drayton.

¶ Alanius the Sheepheard, his dolefull Song, complayning
Ismeniaes crueltie. +

N O more (ô cruell Nimph,) now hast thou prayed Enough in thy reuenge, prooue not thine ireOn him that yeelds, the fault is now appayedVnto my cost: Now mollifie thy dire (5) Hardnes, and brest of thine so much obdured: And now raise vp (though lately it hath erred,) A poore repenting soule, that in the obscured Darknes of thy obliuion lyes enterred. For it falls not in that, that should commend thee: (10) That such a Swaine as I may once offend thee.