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SHE fell away in her first ages spring, | |
| Whil’st yet her leaf was green, and fresh her rinde, | |
| And whil’st her branch fair blossoms forth did bring, | |
| She fell away against all course of kind. | |
| For age to die is right, but youth is wrong; | 5 |
| She fell away like fruit blown down with wind. | |
| Weep, Shepherd! weep, to make my undersong. | |
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| Yet fell she not as one enforc’d to die, | |
| Ne died with dread and grudging discontent, | |
| But as one toil’d with travail down doth lie, | 10 |
| So lay she down, as if to sleep she went, | |
| And closed her eyes with careless quietness; | |
| The whiles soft death away her spirit sent, | |
| And soul assoyld from sinful fleshliness. | |
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| How happy was I when I saw her lead | 15 |
| The Shepherd’s daughters dancing in a round! | |
| How trimly would she trace and softly tread | |
| The tender grass, with rosy garland crown’d! | |
| And when she list advance her heavenly voice, | |
| Both Nymphs and Muses nigh she made astown’d | 20 |
| And flocks and shepherds causèd to rejoice. | |
| |
| But now, ye Shepherd lasses! who shall lead | |
| Your wandering troops, or sing your virelays? | |
| Or who shall dight your bow’rs, sith she is dead | |
| That was the Lady of your holy days? | 25 |
| Let now your bliss be turnèd into bale, | |
| And into plaints convert your joyous plays, | |
| And with the same fill every hill and dale. | |
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| But I will walk this wandering pilgrimage | |
| Throughout the world from one to other end, | 30 |
| And in affliction waste my better age: | |
| My bread shall be the anguish of my mind, | |
| My drink the tears which fro’ mine eyes do rain | |
| My bed the ground that hardest I may find; | |
| So will I wilfully increase my pain. | 35 |
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| Ne sleep (the harbinger of weary wights) | |
| Shall ever lodge upon mine eye-lids more; | |
| Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting sprights | |
| Nor failing force to former strength restore: | |
| But I will wake and sorrow all the night | 40 |
| With Philomene, my fortune to deplore; | |
| With Philomene, the partner of my plight. | |
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| And ever as I see the stars to fall, | |
| And underground to go to give them light | |
| Which dwell in darkness, I to mind will call | 45 |
| How my fair Star, (that shined on me so bright,) | |
| Fell suddenly and faded underground; | |
| Since whose departure day is turn’d to night, | |
| And night without a Venus star is found. | |
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| And she,—my Love that was, my Saint that is,— | 50 |
| When she beholds from her celestial throne, | |
| (In which she joyeth in eternal bliss) | |
| My bitter penance, will my case bemoan, | |
| And pity me that living thus do die; | |
| For heavenly spirits have compassion | 55 |
| On mortal men, and rue their misery. | |
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| So when I have with sorrow satisfied | |
| Th’ importune Fates, which vengeance on me seek, | |
| And th’ heavens with long languor pacified, | |
| She, for pure pity of my sufferance meek, | 60 |
| Will send for me: for which I daily long: | |
| And will till then my painful penance eeke. | |
| Weep, Shepherd! weep, to make my undersong! | |
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