Englands Helicon. Or The Muses harmony.

¶The Shepheards sorrow, being disdai∣ned in loue.

MVses help 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 world vntrustie: Flattering hope beguileth euer, Wearie old, and wanton lustie.

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

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 help 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 heart enioyed: Thoughts their thinking haue disclaimed, Hate my hopes haue quite annoyed.

Scant regard my weale 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 changed.

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.

Drinke 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 Lambes 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 Shepheard strayeth, In thy walkes and shades vnhaunted: Tell the teene my hart betrayeth, How neglect my ioyes haue daunted.

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.