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¶The Shepheards dumpe.
LIke desart Woods, with darksome shades obscured,
Where dreadful beasts, where hatefull horror raigneth,
Such is my wounded heart, whom sorrow paineth.
The Trees are fatall shafts, to death inured,
That cruell loue within my heart maintaineth,
To whet my griefe, when as my sorrow waineth.
The ghastly beasts, my thoughts in cares assured,
Which wadge me warre, whilst heart no succour gaineth,
With false suspect, and feare that still remaineth.
The horrors, burning sighs, by cares procured,
Which forth I send, whilst weeping eye complaineth,
To coole the heate the helplesse heart containeth.
But shafts, but cares, sighs, horrors vnrecured,
Were nought esteem'd, if for their paines awarded,
Your Shepheards loue might be by you regarded.
FINIS.
S. E. D.