Montanus' Sonnet to his fair Phoebe

A turtle sat upon a leafless tree,
Mourning her absent phere,
With sad and sorry cheer;
About her wondering stood.
The citizens of wood.
And whilst her plumes she rents.
And for her love laments.
The stately trees complain them.
The birds with sorrow pain them;
Each one that doth her view,
Her pains and sorrows rue:
But where the sorrows known.
That me hath overthrown.
Oh, how would Phoebe sigh if she did look on me!

The lovesick Polypheme that could not see,
Who on the barren shore
His fortunes did deplore,
And melteth all in moan
For Galatea gone,
And with his piteous cries
Afflicts both earth and skies,
And to his woe betook
Doth break both pipe and hook;
For whom complains the morn.

For whom the sea-nymphs mourn:
Alas! his pain is nought,
For were my woe but thought.
Oh, how would Phoebe sigh if she did look on me!
Beyond compare my pain,
Yet glad am I,
If gentle Phoebe deign
To see her Montane die.