Lovely swain with lucky guiding,
Once (but now no more so friended)
Thou my flocks hast had in minding,
From the morn till day was ended.
Drink and fodder, food and folding,
Had my lambs and ewes together;
I with them was still beholding,
Both in warmth and winter weather.
Now they languish since refusèd,
Ewes and lambs are pained with pining;
I with ewes and lambs confusèd,
All unto our deaths declining.
Silence, leave thy cave obscurèd;
Deign a doleful swain to tender;
Though disdains I have endurèd,
Yet I am no deep offender.
Phillis' son can with his finger
Hide his scar, it is so little;
Little sin a day to linger,
Wise men wander in a tittle.
Thriftless yet my swain have turnèd,
Though my sun he never showeth:
Though I weep, I am not mournèd;
Though I want, no pity groweth.
Yet for pity love my muses;
Gentle silence be their cover;
They must leave their wonted uses,
Since I leave to be a lover.
They shall live with thee inclosèd,
I will loathe my pen and paper
Art shall never be supposèd,
Sloth shall quench the watching taper.
Kiss them, silence, kiss them kindly
Though I leave them, yet I love them;
Though my wit have led them blindly,
Yet my swain did once approve them.
I will travel soils removèd,
Night and morrow never merry;
Thou shalt harbour that I lovèd,
I will love that makes me weary.