Thyrsis the Shepherd to his Pipe

Like desert woods, with darksome shades obscur'd,
Where dreadful beasts, where hateful horror reigneth,
Such is my wounded heart, whom sorrow paineth.

The trees are fatal shafts, to death inur'd,
That cruel love within my breast maintaineth,
To whet my grief, when as my sorrow waneth.

The ghastly beasts my thoughts in cares assur'd,
Which wage me war, while heart no succour gaineth.
With false suspect and fear that still remaineth.

The horrors, burning sighs by cares procured,
Which forth I send, whilst weeping eye complaineth,
To cool the heat the helpless heart containeth.

But shafts, but cares, but sighs, horrors unrecur'd,
Were nought esteem'd if, for these pains awarded,
My faithful love by her might be regarded.