And Pan with all his swaines came out
To heare the shepheards sing;
But such a song sung neuer was,
Nor shall be sung againe.

Of Phillida the shepheards queene

And Coridon the swaine.

Faire Phillis is the shepheard's queene, (Was neuer such a queene as shee) And Coridon her onely swaine,

(Was neuer such a swaine as he.) Faire Phillis hath the fairest face, That euer eye did yet behold. And Coridon the constant'st faith

That euer yet kept flocke in fold. Sweet Phillis is the sweetest sweet, That euer yet the earth did yield, And Coridon the kindest swaine,

That euer yet kept lambs in field. Sweet Philomell is Phillis bird,

Though Coridon be he that caught her : And Coridon doth heare her sing,

Though Phillida be she that taught her. Poore Coridon doth keepe the fields,

Though Phillida be she that owes them: And Phillida doth walke the meades,

Though Coridon be he that mowes them. The little lambs are Phillis loue,

Though Coridon is he that feedes them: The gardens faire are Phillis ground,

Though Coridon is he that weedes them. Since then that Phillis onely is,

The onely shepheards onely queene:

And

And Coridon the onely swaine,

That onely hath her shepheard beene.
Though Phillis keepe her bower of state,
Shall Coridon consume away?

No, Shepheard, no, worke out the weeke,
And Sunday shall be holy-day.

Finis.

N. Breton.

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHEARD'S SONG.

On a day, (alack the day,)

Loue whose moneth was euer May:

Spied a blossome passing faire,
Playing in the wanton ayre.

Through the veluet leaues the winde,

All unscene gan passage finde:
That the shepheard (sick to death,)
Wish'd himselfe the heauens breath.
Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blow:
Ayre, would I might triumph so.
But alas, my hand hath sworne,
Nere to pluck thee from thy thorne.
Vow (alack) for youth unmeet,

Youth so apt to pluck a sweet,

Thou for whom Ioue would sweare
Juno but an Ethiope were,
And deny himselfe for Ioue,
Turning mortall for thy loue.

Finis.

THE UNKNOWN SHEPHEARD'S COMPLAINT.

My flocks feede not, my ewes breed not,
My rammes speed not, all is amisse :
Loue is denying, Faith is defying;
Harts renging, causer of this.

All my merry jigges are quite forgot,
All my ladie's loue is lost, God wot,
Where her faith was firmely fixt in loue,
There a nay is plac'd without remoue.

One silly crosse, wrought all my losse ;
O frowning fortune, cursed fickle Dame,
For now I see, inconstancie

More in women than in men remaine.

In blacke mourne I, all feares scorne I,
Loue hath forlorne me, liuing in thrall:
Hart is bleeding, all helpe needing,
O cruell speeding, fraughted with gall.
My Shepheard's Pipe can sound no deale,
My weather's bell rings dolefull knell.
My curtaile dogge that wont to haue plaide,
Playes not at all, but seemes afraide.

With sighs so deepe, procure to weepe,
In howling-wise to see my dolefull plight:
How sighs resound, through hartlesse ground,
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight.

Cleare wels spring not, sweet birds sing not,
Greene plants bring not forth their die:
Heards stand weeping-flocks all sleeping,

Nymphs

Nymphs backe peeping fearefully.

All our pleasure knowne to us poore swaines,
All our merry meeting on the plaines.

All our euening sports from us are fied.

All our loue is lost, for loue is dead,

Farewell sweet Loue, thy like nere was,

For sweet content, the cause of all my moane:
Poore Coridon must liue alone,

Other helpe for him, I see that there is none.

Finis.

Ignoto.

ANOTHER OF THE SAME SHEPHEARD's.

As it fell upon a day,

In the merry month of May,

Sitting in a pleasant shade,

Which a groupe of mirtles made,

Beasts did leape & birds did sing,

Trees did grow, & plants did spring.
Euery thing did banish moane,
Saue the nightingale alone.
She, poore bird, as all forlorne,
Lean'd her breast against a thorne,
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to heare it was great pitty.
Fie, fie, fie, now would she crie
Teru, teru, by and by.

That to heare her so complaine

Scarse I could from teares refraine.

For her griefes so liuely showne,
Made me thinke upon mine owne.
Ah (thought I) thou mournst in vaine,
None takes pitty on thy paine.

Sencelesse trees, they cannot heare thee,

Ruthlesse beasts, they will not cheare thee,

King Pandion he is dead,

All thy friends are lapt in lead.
All thy fellow birds doe sing,
Carelesse of thy sorrowing;

Euen so poore bird like thee,
None aliue will pitty mee.

THE SHEPHEARD'S ALLUSION OF HIS OWNE AMOROUS INFELICITIE TO THE FATE OF ACTÆON.

Acteon lost in middle of his sport
Both shape & life for looking but awry:
Diane was afraid he would report

What secrets he had scene in passing by.

To tell but truth, the self same hurt haue I:
By viewing her for whom I daily die.

I leese my wonted shape, in that my minde
Doeth suffer wracke upon the stonie rock
Of her disdaine, who contrarie to kinde
Does beare a breast more hard than any stock;

And former forme of limbes is changed quite:
By cares in loue, & want of due delight