Burst forth, my tears, assist my forward grief,
And show what pain imperious Love provokes.
Kind tender lambs, lament Love's scant relief
And pine, since pensive Care my freedom yokes.
O pine to see me pine, my tender flocks.

Sad, sad pining Care, that never may have peace,
At Beauty's gate in hope of pity knocks.
But Mercy sleeps while deep Disdain increase,
And Beauty Hope in her fair bosom locks.
O grieve to hear my grief, my tender flocks.

Like, like to the winds my sighs have winged been,
Yet are my sighs and suits repaid with mocks.
I plead, yet she repineth at my teen.
O ruthless rigour harder than the rocks,
That both the shepherd kills and his poor flocks.