Montanus' Sonnet

When the dog,
Full of rage,
With his ireful eyes
Frowns amidst the skies.
The shepherd to assuage
The fury of the heat.
Himself doth safely seat
By a fount
Full of fair,
Where a gentle breath,
Mounting from beneath.

Tempereth the air.
There his flocks
Drink their fill
And with ease repose,
While sweet sleep doth close
Eyes from toiling ill;
But I bum,
Without rest;
No defensive power
Shields from Phoebus' lower,
Sorrow is my best.
Gentle Love!
Lower no more;
If thou wilt invade
In the secret shade,
Labour not so sore;
I myself,
And my flocks,
They their love to please,
I myself to ease,
Both leave the shady oaks,
Content to burn in fire
Sith Love doth so desire.