“So oft as I record those piercing words, 295
Which yet are deepe engraven in my brest,
And those last deadly accents, which like swords
Did wound my heart and rend my bleeding chest,
With those sweet sugred speeches doe compare
The which my soul first conquerd and possest, 300
The first beginners of my endlesse care,
“And when those pallid cheekes and ashe hew,
In which sad Death his pourtraiture had writ,
And when those hollow eyes and deadly view,
On which the cloud of ghastly night did sit, 305
I match, with that sweete smile and chearful brow,
Which all the world subdued unto it,
How happie was I then, and wretched now!
“How happie was I when I saw her leade
The shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd! 310
How trimly would she trace* and softly tread
The tender grasse, with rosye garland crownd!
And when she list advaunce her heavenly voyce,
Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made astownd,
And flocks and shepheards caused to reioyce. 315
[* _Trace_, step]
“But now, ye shepheard lasses! who shall lead
Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes*?
Or who shall dight** your bowres, sith she is dead
That was the lady of your holy-dayes?
Let now your blisse be turned into bale, 320
And into plaints convert your ioyous playes,
And with the same fill every hill and dale.
[* _Virelayes_, roundelays.]
[** _Dight_, deck.]
“Let bagpipe never more be heard to shrill,
That may allure the senses to delight,
Ne ever shepheard sound his oaten quill 325
Unto the many*, that provoke them might
To idle pleasance; but let ghastlinesse
And drearie horror dim the chearfull light,
To make the image of true heavinesse.
[* _Many_, company.]
“Let birds be silent on the naked spray, 330
And shady woods resound with dreadfull yells;
Let streaming floods their hastie courses stay,
And parching drouth drie up the cristall wells;
Let th’earth be barren, and bring foorth no flowres,
And th’ayre be fild with noyse of dolefull knells,
335
And wandring spirits walke untimely howres.
“And Nature, nurse of every living thing,
Let rest her selfe from her long wearinesse,
And cease henceforth things kindly forth to bring,
But hideous monsters full of uglinesse; 340
For she it is that hath me done this wrong;
No nurse, but stepdame cruell, mercilesse.
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.