O H woods vnto your walks my bodie hies, +To loose the traitrous bonds of ticing Loue, Where trees, where herbes, where flowres, Their natiue moisture powres, (5) From foorth their tender stalks to helpe mine eies, Yet their vnited teares may nothing moue.
When I beheld the faire adorned tree, +Which lightnings force and winters frosts resists, Then Daphnes ill betide, (10) And Phebus lawles pride, Enforce me say euen such my sorrowes be, For selfe disdaine in Phebes hart consists.
If I behold the flowres by morning teares, Looke louely sweete, ah then forlorne I crie: (15) Sweete showres for Memnon shed, +All flowres by you are fed: Whereas my pitious plaint that still appeares, Yeelds vigor to hir scornes and makes me die.
When I regard the pretie greeffull burd, (20) With tearfull (yet delightfull) notes complaine, I yeeld a tenor with my teares, And whilst hir musicke wounds mine eares, Alas say I, why nill my notes affoord Such like remorce, who still beweepe my paine.
(25) When I behold vpon the leaueles bow, The haples bird lament hir Loues depart, I drawe hir biding nigh, And sitting downe I sigh, And sighing say alas, that birds auow (30) A setled faith, where Phebe scornes my smart.
Thus wearie in my walks, and woefull too, I spend the day forespent with daily griefe: