You gentle Nymphs, that on these meadows play
And oft relate the loues of Shepherds young:
Come, sit you downe; for, if you please to stay,
Now may you heare an vncouth Passion sung.
A Lad there is, and I am that poore Groome;
That faln in loue, & cannot tell with whom.

Oh doe not smile at sorrow as a Iest;
With others cares good Natures mooued be:
And, I should weepe, if you had my vnrest.
Then, at my griefe, how, can you merry be?
Ah, where is tender pitie now become?
I am in loue, and cannot tell with whom.

I, that haue oft the rarest features viewd,
And Beautie in her best perfection seene:
I, that haue laught at them that Loue pursude
And euer free, from such affections beene.
Lo now at last, so cruell is my doome;
I am in loue, and cannot tell with whom.

My heart is full nigh bursting with desire,
Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow:
My brest doth burne, but she that lights the fire,
I neuer saw, nor can I come to know.
So great a blisse my fortune keepes my from.
That though I dearly loue; I know not whō.

Ere I had twice foure Springs, renewed seene,
The force of Beautie I began to proue;
And, ere I nine yeares old, had fully beene,
It taught me how to frame a Song of Loue.
And, little thought I, this day should haue come,
Before that I to loue, had found out whom.

For, on my Chinn, the mossy downe you see,
And, in my vaines, well-heated blood doth glow:
Of Summers I haue seene twice three times three,
And, fast, my youthfull time away doth goe.
That much I feare, I aged shall become:
And still complaine; I loue I know not whom.

Oh! why had I, a heart bestow'd on me,
To cherish deare affections, so enclind?
Since, I am so vnhappy borne to be
No Obiect, for so true a Loue to find.
When I am dead, it will be mist of some:
Yet, now I liue; I loue, I know not whom.

I, to a thousand beautious Nymphs am knowne;
A hundred Ladies fauours doe I weare:
I, with as many, halfe in loue am growne;
Yet none of them (I find) can be my Deare.
Me thinks, I haue a Mistresse, yet to come;
Which makes me sing; I loue I know not whom

There liues no Swaine doth stronger passion proue,
For her, whom most he couets to possesse;
Then doth my heart, that being full of Loue,
Knowes not to whom, it may the same professe.
For, he that is despisd, hath sorrow, some:
But he hath more; that loues, and knowes not whom

Knew I my Loue, as many others doe,
To some one obiect might my thoughts be bent:
So, they diuided should not wandring goe,
Vntill the Soules vnited force be spent.
As his, that seekes, and neuer finds a Home:
Such is my rest; that loue, & know not whom.

Those, whom the frownes of iealous friends diuide,
May liue to meet, and descant on their woe:
And he, hath gaind a Lady for his Bride,
That durst not woe her Mayd, a while agoe.
But oh! what end vnto my Hopes can come?
That am in loue, and cannot tel with whom.

Poore Collin, grieues that he was late disdaind:
And Cloris, doth for Willy's absence pine.
Sad Thirsis, weeps, for his sicke Phaebe paind.
But, all their sorrowes cannot equall mine.
A greater care alas, on me is come:
I am in loue, and cannot tell with whom.

Narcissus-like, did I affect my shade;
Some shaddow yet, I had, to dote vpon.
Or, did I loue, some Image of the dead,
Whose substance had not breathed long agone;
I might dispaire, and so an end would come;
But, oh, I loue! and cannot tell you whom.

Once in a Dreame, me thought, my Loue I view'd;
But, neuer waking, could her face behold:
And doubtles, that Resemblance was but shew'd,
That more, my tyred heart torment it should.
For, since that time, more grieu'd I am become;
And more in loue; I cannot tell with whom.

When on my bed at night, to rest I lye,
My watchfull eyes, with teares bedew my cheeke:
And then, oh would it once were day, I crie;
Yet when it comes, I am as far to seeke.
For, who can tell, though all the earth he rome;
Or when, or where, to find hee knowes not whom?

Oh! if she be among the beautious traines,
Of all you Nymphs, that haunt the siluer •ills;
Or, if you know her, Ladies of the Plaines,
Or you, that haue your Bowers, on the Hills.
Tell if you can, who will my loue become:
Or I shal die, and neuer know for whom.