275
That nought on earth may lessen or appease;
Why then should I desire here to remaine!
Or why should he that loves me sorrie bee
For my deliverance, or at all complaine
My good to heare, and toward* ioyes to see! 280
[* _Toward,_ preparing, near at hand.]

"'I goe, and long desired have to goe;
I goe with gladnesse to my wished rest,
Whereas* no worlds sad care nor wasting woe
May come, their happie quiet to molest;
But saints and angels in celestiall thrones 285
Eternally Him praise that hath them blest;
There shall I be amongst those blessed ones.
[* _Whereas,_ where.]

"'Yet, ere I goe, a pledge I leave with thee
Of the late love the which betwixt us past;
My young Ambrosia; in lieu of mee, 290
Love her; so shall our love for ever last.
Thus, deare! adieu, whom I expect ere long.'--
So having said, away she softly past;
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make mine undersong.

III.

"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