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SONNETS, &c.
149
For now I see, inconstancy
More in women than in men remain.
More in women than in men remain.
IN black morne I, all fears scorne I,
Love hath forlorne me, living in thrall:
Heart is bleeding, all helpe needing,
O cruel speeding, fraughted with gall.
My shepherds pipe can sound no deale,
My weathers bell rings doleful knell;
My curtaile dogg that wont to have plaid,
Plaies not at all but seems afraid.
With sighs so deep, procures to weep,
In howling wise, to see my doleful plight,
How sighs resound through hartlesse ground,
Like a thousand vanquisht men in bloody fight.
Love hath forlorne me, living in thrall:
Heart is bleeding, all helpe needing,
O cruel speeding, fraughted with gall.
My shepherds pipe can sound no deale,
My weathers bell rings doleful knell;
My curtaile dogg that wont to have plaid,
Plaies not at all but seems afraid.
With sighs so deep, procures to weep,
In howling wise, to see my doleful plight,
How sighs resound through hartlesse ground,
Like a thousand vanquisht men in bloody fight.
CLeare wells spring not, sweete birds sing not,
Green plants bring not forth their die,
Herds stands weeping, flocks all sleeping,
Nymphes black peeping fearfully.
All our pleasure knowne to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead:
Farewel sweet love thy like nere was,
For a sweet content the cause of all my woe,
Poor Coridon must live alone,
Other helpe for him I see that there is none.
Green plants bring not forth their die,
Herds stands weeping, flocks all sleeping,
Nymphes black peeping fearfully.
All our pleasure knowne to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead:
Farewel sweet love thy like nere was,
For a sweet content the cause of all my woe,
Poor Coridon must live alone,
Other helpe for him I see that there is none.
When
