Like bees came swarming thick, to hear him sing; Ne could they think

On meat or drink,

While Willy's music in their ears did ring.

But now, alas! such pleasant mirth is past,
Apollo weeps, the Muses rend their hair.
No joy on earth that any time can last:
See where his breathless corpse lies on the bier!
That self-same hand, that reft his life,
Hath turned shepherds' peace to strife.
Our joy is fled

Our life is dead,

Our hope, our help, our glory, all is gone:

Our poets' praise,

Our happy days,

And nothing left but grief, to think thereon.

What Thames, what Severn, or what western seas,

Shall give me floods of trickling tears to shed?

What comfort can my restless grief appease?

O that mine eyes were fountains in my head!
Ah, Colin! I lament thy case:

For thee remains no hope of grace,
The best relief

Of poets' grief

Is dead and wrapt full cold in filthy clay;

And nought remains

To ease our pains,

But hope of death to rid us hence away.

Phillis, thine is the greatest grief above the rest.
Where bin thy sweetest Posies featly dight,
Thy garlands with a true-love's-knot addrest,
And all that erst thou Willy did'st behight?
Thy labour all is lost in vain,

The grief shall ay remain,

To-morrow from the east again shall rise.
But we decay,

And waste away!

Without return, alas! thy ss Willy dies!

See how the drooping flocks refuse to feed,
The rivers stream with tears above the banks,
The trees do shed their leaves, to wail agreed,
The beasts unfed, go mourning all in ranks;
The sun denies the earth his light,

The Spring is kill'd with Winter's might:
The flowers spill,

The birds are still,

No voice of joy is heard in any place:

The meadows green

A change have seen,

And Flora hides her pale disfigur'd face.

Watch now, ye shepherds' boys, with waking eye,

And loose your time of sleep, to learn to sing.

Unhappy skill, what good is got thereby,
But painted praise that can no profit bring?
If skill could move the Sisters three,
Our Willy still alive should be.

The wolf so wood

Amazed stood

At sound of Willy's pipe, and left his prey:
Both pipe and skill

The Sisters spill;

So worse than any wicked wolf are they.

O flatt'ring hope of mortal mens' delight,

So fair in outward show, so foul within!
The deepest streams do flow full calm to sight,
The rav'ning wolves do jet in wethers' skin;
We deem'd our Willy aye should live,
So sweet a sound his pipe could give:
But cruel Death

Hath stopt his breath:

Dumb lies his pipe that wont so sweet to sound:
Our flocks lament,

His life is spent,

And careless wander all the woods around.

Come now,

tt ye shepherds' daughters, come no more

To hear the songs that Cuddy wont to sing:

Hoarse is my Muse, my throat with crying sore,
These woods with echo of my grief do ring.

tt Now, omitted 4th.

Your Willy's life was Cuddy's joy,

Your Willy's death hath kill'd the Boy:
Broke lies my pipe,

Till reeds be ripe

To make a new one, but a worse I fear:

Save year by year,

To wail my dear,

All pipe and song I utterly forswear.

Thenot.

Alack and well-a-day may shepherds cry,
Our Willy dead, our Colin kill'd with care:
Who shall not loathe to live, and long to die?
And will not grief our little Cuddy spare,

But must he too of sorrow have a share?

Ay how his rueful verse hath prick'd my heart! How feelingly hath he express'd my

uu smart!

Perin.

Ah Thenot, had'st thou seen his sorry look,
His wringed hands, his eyes to heaven upkest,
His tears, that stream'd like water in the brook,
His sighs, that made his rhimes seem rudely drest,
To tears thou would'st have melted with the rest.
But hie we homeward, night approacheth near,
And rainy clouds in southern skies appear.

u Our, 4th.

A REPORTING SONNET.▾▾

HER face, her tongue, her wit, so fair, so sweet, so sharp, First bent, then drew, now hit, mine eye, mine ear, my

heart:

Mine eye, mine ear, my heart, to like, to learn, to love, Her face, her tongue, her wit, doth lead, doth teach, doth

move;

Her face, her tongue, her wit, with beams, with sound,

with art,

Doth blind, doth charm, doth rule, mine eye, mine ear, my heart.

Mine eye, mine ear, my heart, with life, with hope, with

skill,

Her face, her tongue, her wit, doth feed, doth feast, doth fill. O face, O tongue, O wit, with frowns, with checks, with

smart,

Wring not, vex not, wound not, mine eye, mine ear, my heart:

This eye, this ear, this heart, shall joy, shall bind, shall

swear;

Your face, your tongue, your wit, to serve, to love, to fear.

vv In the grace of wit, of tongue, and face. 3d.