The thought of which, in that vnhappie season
With woefull passion did so maister reason,
That as I stood vpon that pleasant hill
To fancie sweet delight I had no will;
But seeking for some groue or gloomie wood,
Where I might feede my melancholie mood:
Vpon this hil’s south side at last I found
Fitting my thoughts a pleasing plot of ground;
It was to wit, that wel knowne happie shade,
Which for delight the royall Britaine maid