EnglandsHelicon P1r


My face she nam’d the seate of fauour, (10) All my defects her tongue defended, My shape she prais’d, but most commended. My breath more sweete then Balme in sauour. Be old man with me delighted, Loue for loue shall be requited. (15) With her toyes at last she wone me: Now she coyes that hath vndone me.


¶ The Sheepheard Syluanus his Song. +

M Y life (young Sheepheardesse) for thee Of needes to death must post: But yet my greefe must stay with me, After my life is lost.
(5) The greeuous ill, by Death that cured is, Continually hath remedy at hand: +But not that torment that is like to this, That in slow time, and Fortunes meanes + dooth stand.
And if this sorrow cannot be (10) Ended with life (at most:) What then dooth this thing profit me, A sorrow wonne or lost?
Yet all is one to me, as now I trie a flattering hope, or that that had not been yet: (15) For if to day for want of it I die, Next day I doo no lesse for hauing seene it.
Faine would I die, to end and free This greefe, that kills me most: