Amarillis tear thy hair, 
Beat thy breast, sigh, weep, despair.
Cry, cry "Ay me, is Daphnis dead?" 
I see a paleness on his brow 
And his cheeks are drowned in snow.
Whither are those roses fled? 

"O my heart, how cold he's grown;
Sure his lips are turned to stone.
Thus then I offer up my blood, 
And bathe my body in his shroud.
Since living accents cannot move,
Know Amarillis died for love."