In these wild woods: if ever piteous plaint
We did indite, or taught a woeful mind
With words of pure affect, his grief to tell;
Instruct me now! Now Colin then go on;
And I will follow thee, though far behind.
Colin. Phillisides is dead! O harmful death!
O deadly harm! Unhappy Albion!
When shalt thou see emong thy shepherds all
Any so sage, so perfect? Whom uneath
Envy could touch for virtuous life and skill: