Cynthia the Nymph's Song to fair Polydora

Near to the river banks, with green
And pleasant trees on every side,
Where freest minds would most have been.
That never felt brave Cupid's pride.
To pass the day and tedious hours
Amongst those painted meads and flowers,
A certain shepherd, full of woe,
Sirenus call'd, his flocks did feed.
Not sorrowful in outward show.
But troubled with such grief indeed,
As cruel love is wont t'impart
Unto a painful loving heart.

This shepherd every day did die,
For love he to Diana bare;
A shepherdess so fine perdie.
So lively, young, and passing fair,
Excelling more in beauty's feature,
Than any other human creature.

Who had not any thing of all
She had, but was extreme in her;
For meanly wise none might her call,
Nor meanly fair, for he did err
If so he did; but should devise
Her name of passing fair and wise.

Favours on him she did bestow,
Which if she had not, then be sure
He might have suffered all that woe.
Which afterward he did endure,
When he was gone, with lesser pain,
And at his coming home again.

For when indeed the heart is free
From suffering pain or torment's smart,
If wisdom does not oversee,
And beareth not the greatest part,
The smallest grief and care of mind
Doth make it captive to their kind.

Near to a river swift and great.
That famous Erla had to name.
The careful shepherd did repeat
The fears he had by absence blame.
Which he suspect where he did keep,
And feed his gentle lambs and sheep.

And now sometimes he did behold
His shepherdess, that thereabout
Was on the mountains of that old
And ancient Leon seeking out
From place to place the pastures best
Her lambs to feed, herself to rest.

And sometime musing, as he lay,
When on those hills she was not seen,
Was thinking of that happy day.
When Cupid gave him such a queen
Of beauty, and such cause of joy,
Wherein his mind he did employ.

Yet said, poor man, when he did see
Himself so sunk in sorrow's pit,
The good that Love hath given me,
I only do imagine it.

Because this nearest harm and trouble;
Hereafter I should suffer double.
The sun for that it did decline.
The careless man did not offend
With fiery beams, which scarce did shine
But that which did of love depend.
And in his heart did kindle fire
Of greater flames and hot desire.

Him did his passions all invite;
The green leaves blown with gentle wind.
Crystalline streams with their delight,
And nightingales were not behind.
To help him in his loving verse,
Which to himself he did rehearse.