That to thy ashes, rest they may assure;
That learnedst shepherds honour may thy name
With yearly praises; and the nymphs alway,
Thy tomb may deck with fresh and sweetest flowers;
And that for ever may endure thy fame.
Colin. The sun, lo, hastened hath his face to steep
In western waves, and th'air with stormy showers,
Warns us to drive homewards our silly sheep.
Lycon! let's rise, and take of them good keep.
Virtute summa; cætera fortuna.