¶The solitarie Sheepheards Song.
O Shadie Vales, ô faire enriched Meades,
O sacred vvoods, sweet fields, and rising mountaines:
O painted flowers, greene hearbs where Flora treads,
Refresht by wanton winds and watry fountaines.
O all you winged Queristers of vvood,
that pearcht aloft, your former paines report:
And straite againe recount with pleasant moode,
your present ioyes in sweete and seemely sort.
O all you creatures whosoeuer thriue
on mother earth, in Seas, by ayre, by fire:
More blest are you then I heere vnder Sunne,
loue dies in me, when as he dooth reuiue
In you, I perish vnder beauties ire,
where after stormes, winds, frosts, your life is wunne.
Thom. Lodge.
FINIS.