A Sheperd in a shade his plaining made Of loue and louers wrong, Vnto the fairest lasse that trode on grasse, And thus beegan his song. Since loue and Fortune will, I honour still Your faire and louely eye, What conquest will it bee, Sweet Nimph for thee, If I for sorrow dye. Restore, restore my hart againe, Which loue by thy sweet lookes hath slaine, Least that inforst by your disdaine, I sing, Fye, fye on loue, it is a foolish thing. My hart where haue you laid O cruell maide, To kill when you might saue, Why haue yee cast it forth as nothing worth, Without a tombe or graue. O let it bee intombed and lye, In your sweet minde and memorie, Least I refound on euery warbling string, Fye fye on loue that is a foolish thing.Close