And vaile your gracious pompe in louely Natures scorne. If chaunce my Mistres traces Fast by your flowers to take the Sommers ayre: Then wofull blushing tempt her glorious eyes, (25) To spread their teares, Adonis death reporting, And tell Loues torments, sorrowing for her friend: Whose drops of blood within your leaues consorting, Report faire Venus moanes to haue no end. Then may remorce, in pittying of my smart: (30) Drie vp my teares, and dwell within her hart.
¶The Sheepheard Arsilius, his Song to his Rebeck. +
N Ow Loue and Fortune turne to me againe, And now each one enforceth and assures +A hope, that was dismayed, dead, and vaine: And from the harbour of mishaps assures (5) A hart that is consum’d in burning fire, With vnexpected gladnes, that admires +My soule to lay a-side her mourning tire,And sences to prepare a place for ioy, Care in obliuion endlesse shall expire. (10) For euery greefe of that extreame annoy,Which when my torment raign’d, my soule (alas) Did feele, the which long absence did destroy, Fortune so well appayes, that neuer was So great the torment of my passed ill: (15) As is the ioy of this same good I passe. Returne my hart, sursaulted with the fillOf thousand great vnrests, and thousand feares: Enioy thy good estate, if that thou will, And wearied eyes, leaue off your burning teares, (20) For soone you shall behold her with delight, For whom my spoiles with glorie Cupid beares.