Astrophel the Shepherd his complaint to his Flock

Go, my flock, go get ye hence,
Seek a better place of feeding;
Where ye may have some defence
From the storms in my breast breeding,
And showers from mine eyes proceeding.
Leave a wretch in whom all woe
Can abide to keep no measure:
Merry flock, such one forego
Unto whom mirth is displeasure,
Only rich in mischief's treasure.

Yet (alas!) before you go,
Hear your woful master's story,
Which to stones I else would show;
Sorrow only then hath glory.
When 'tis excellently sorry.
Stella, fiercest shepherdess,
Fiercest, but yet fairest ever;
Stella, whom the heavens still bless.

Though against me she persever.
Though I bliss inherit never;
Stella hath refused me,
Stella, who more love has proved
In this caitiff heart to be.
Than can in good ewes be moved
Towards lambkins best beloved.
Stella hath refus'd me;
Astrophel, that so well served,
In this pleasant spring must see
While in pride flowers be preserved,
Himself only winter-sterved.

Why (alas!) then doth she swear.
That she loveth me so dearly:
Seeing me so long to bear
Coals of love that burn so clearly,
And yet leave me helpless merely?
Is that love? forsooth I trow,
If I saw my good dog grieved,
And a help for him did know,
My love should not be believed,
But he were by me relieved.

No, she hates me, well away!
Feigning love, somewhat to please me;
Knowing, if she should display
All her hate, death soon would seize me,
And of hideous torments ease me.
Then,' my dear flock, now adieu!
But (alas!) if in your straying.
Heavenly Stella meets with you,
Tell her, in your piteous blaying,
Her poor slave's unjust decaying.