Full little faileth, but thou shalt be dead;
Unpitied, unplained of foe or friend:
Whilst none is nigh, thine eyelids up to close;
And kiss thy lips like faded leaves of rose.
A sort of shepherds suing of the chase,
As they the forest rangèd on a day;
By fate or fortune came unto the place,
Whereas the luckless boy yet bleeding lay.
Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled,
Had not good hap those shepherds thither led.