Amyntas Shepherd’s fled away;
And all the joys he wont to spye
I’ th’ pretty babies of thine eye,
Are gone; and she hath none to say
But who can help what will away, will away?
The Green on which it was her [? his] chance
To have her hand first in a dance,
Among the merry Maiden-crue,
Now making her nought but sigh and rue
The time she ere had cause to say [p. 17.]