Thou with fresh hope the lover’s heart dost fill,
While [the jolly Hours] lead on propitious May.
[Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,] 5
[First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill,]
Portend success in love. O, if Jove’s will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere [the rude bird of hate]
Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh; 10
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why.