The Complaint of Thestilis the forsaken Shepherd

Thestilis, a silly swain, when love did him forsake,
In mournful wise amid the woods thus 'gan his plaint to make.
Ah! woful man, quoth he, fall'n is thy lot to moan,
And pine away with careful thoughts unto thy love unknown.

Thy nymph forsakes thee quite, whom thou didst honour so,
That aye to her thou wert a friend, but to thyself a foe.
Ye lovers that have lost your heart's desir'd choice,
Lament with me my cruel hap and help my trembling voice.

Was never man that stood so great in fortune's grace,
Nor with his sweet (alas! too dear) possess'd so high a place.
As I whose simple heart aye thought himself still sure,
But now I see high-springing tides they may not aye endure.

She knows my guiltless heart, and yet she- lets it pine;
Of her untrue professed love so feeble is the twine.
What wonder is it then if I berent my hairs,
And craving death continually, do bathe myself in tears?

When Croesus, King of Lyde, was cast in cruel bands.
And yielded goods and life into his enemy's hands.
What tongue could tell his woe? yet was his grief much less
Than mine, for I have lost my love which might my woe redress.

Ye woods that shroud my limbs, give now your hollow sound
That ye may help me to bewail the cares that me confound.
Ye rivers, rest awhile, and stay your streams that run;
Rue Thestilis, the woful'st man that rests under the sun.

Transport my sighs, ye winds, unto my pleasant foe;
My trickling tears shall witness bear of this my cruel woe.
Oh! happy man were I if all the gods agreed
That now the sisters three should cut in twain my fatal thread!

Till life with love shall end, I here resign all joy,
Thy pleasant sweet I now lament whose lack breeds mine annoy.
Farewell, my dear, therefore, farewell to me well known;
If that I die, it shall be said that thou hast slain thine own.