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¶To Amarillis.
THough Amarillis dance in greene,
Like Fairie Queene,
And sing full cleere,
With smiling cheere.
Yet since her eyes make heart so sore,
hey hoe, chill loue no more.
My Sheepe are lost for want of foode
And I so wood
That all the day:
I sit and watch a Heard-mayde gay,
Who laughs to see me sigh so sore:
hey hoe, chill loue no more.
Her louing lookes, her beautie bright,
Is such delight,
That all in vaine:
I loue to like, and loose my gaine,
For her that thanks me not therefore,
hey hoe, chill loue no more,
Ah wanton eyes, my friendly foes,
And cause of woes,
Your sweet desire
Breedes flames of Ice, and freeze in fire.
You scorne to see me weepe so sore:
hey hoe, chill loue no more.