The Shepherd Musidorus his Complaint

Come, shepherds' weeds, become your master's mind,
Yield outward show, what inward change he tries;
Nor be abash'd since such a guest you find,
Whose strongest hope in your weak comfort lies.
Come, shepherds' weeds, attend my woful cries,
Disuse yourselves from sweet Menalcas' voice;
For other be those tunes which sorrow ties.
From those clear notes which freely may rejoice.
Then pour out plaint, and in one word say this, —
Helpless his plaints who spoils himself of bliss.