The Shepherd's Solace

Phoebus delights to view his laurel tree,
The poplar pleaseth Hercules alone;
Melissa mother is and autrix to the bee,
Pallas will wear the olive branch or none.'
Of shepherds and their flocks Pales is queen,
And Ceres ripes the corn was lately green.
To Chloris every flower belongs of right,
The Dryad nymphs of woods make chief account;
Oreades in hills have their delight,
Diana doth protect each bubbling fount.
To Hebe lovely kissing is assign'd,
To Zephyr every gentle-breathing wind.
But what is Love's delight? to hurt each where
He cares not whom with darts of deep desire.
With watchful jealousy, with hope, with fear.
With nipping cold, and secret flames of fire.
O happy hour, wherein I did forego
This little god, so great a cause of woe.