Englands Helicon Casta placent superis, pura cum veste venite, et manibus puris sumite fontis aquam.

¶The Sheepheards sorrow, being disdained in loue.

MVses helpe me, sorrow swarmeth, Eyes are fraught with Seas of languish: Haplesse hope my solace harmeth, Mindes repast is bitter anguish.

Eye of day regarded neuer, Certaine trust in vvorld vntrustie: Flattering hope beguileth euer, Wearie old, and wanton lustie.

Dawne of day beholds enthroned, Fortunes darling proud and dreadlesse: Darksome night dooth heare him moaned, Who before was rich and needelesse.

Rob the Spheare of lines vnited, Make a suddaine voide in nature: Force the day to be benighted, Reaue the cause of time and creature.

Ere the world will cease to varie, This I weepe for, this I sorrow: Muses, if you please to tarie, Further helpe I meane to borrow.

Courted once by Fortunes fauour, Compast now with Enuies curses:

All my thoughts of sorrowes sauour, Hopes runne fleeting like the Sourses.

Aye me, wanton scorne hath maimed All the ioyes my hart enioyed: Thoughts their thinking haue disclaimed, Hate my hopes haue quite annoyed.

Scant regard my vveale hath scanted, Looking coy, hath forc'd my lowring: Nothing lik'd▪ where nothing wanted, Weds mine eyes to ceaselesse showring.

Former loue was once admired, Present fauour is estraunged: Loath'd the pleasure long desired, Thus both men and thoughts are chaunged.

Louely Swaine with luckie speeding, Once, but now no more so friended: You my Flocks haue had in feeding, From the morne, till day was ended.

Drink and fodder, foode and folding, Had my Lambs and Ewes together: I with them was still beholding, Both in warmth and Winter weather.

Now they languish, since refused, Ewes and Lambs are pain'd with pining: I with Ewes and Lambs confused, All vnto our deaths declining.

Silence, leaue thy Caue obscured, Daigne a dolefull Swaine to tender: Though disdaines I haue endured. Yet I am no deepe offender.

Phillips Sonne can with his finger Hide his scarre, it is so little: Little sinne a day to linger, Wise men wander in a tittle.

Trifles yet my Swaine haue turned, Though my Sunne he neuer showeth: Though I weepe, I am not mourned, Though I want, no pittie groweth.

Yet for pittie, loue my Muses, Gentle silence be their couer: They must leaue their wonted vses, Since I leaue to be a Louer.

They shall liue with thee enclosed, I will loath my pen and paper: Art shall neuer be supposed, Sloth shall quench the watching Taper.

Kisse them silence, kisse them kindly, Though I leaue them, yet I loue them: Though my wit haue led them blindly, Yet a Swaine did once approue them.

I will trauaile soiles remoued, Night and morning neuer merrie: Thou shalt harbour that I loued, I will loue that makes me wearie.

If perchaunce the Sheepheard strayeth, In thy walks and shades vnhaunted: Tell the teene my hart betrayeth, How neglect my ioyes haue daunted.

Thom. Lodge.

FINIS.