Muses, help me; sorrow swarmeth,
Eyes are fraught with seas of languish:
Hapless hope my solace harmeth,
Mind's repast is bitter anguish.

Eye of day regarded never,
Certain trust in world untrusty:
Flattering hope beguileth ever,
Weary old, and wanton lusty.

Dawn of day beholds enthroned
Fortune's darling proud and dreadless:
Darksome night doth hear him moaned,
Who before was rich and needless.

Rob the sphere of lines united,
Make a sudden void in nature:
Force the day to be benighted,
Reave the cause of time and creature,

Ere the world will cease to vary;
This I weep for, this I sorrow:
Muses, if you please to tarry,
Further help I mean to borrow.

Courted once by Fortune's favour,
Compassed now with envy's curses:
All my thoughts of sorrows savour,
Hopes run fleeting like the sources.

Aye me, wanton scorn hath maimed
All the joys my heart enjoyed:
Thoughts their thinking have disclaimed,
Hate my hopes hath quite annoyed.

Scant regard my weal hath scanted,
Looking coy hath forced my louring:
Nothing liked, where nothing wanted,
Weds mine eyes to ceaseless show'ring.

Former love was once admired,
Present favour is estranged:
Loathed the pleasure long desired,
Thus both men and thoughts are changed.

Lovely swain with lucky speeding,
Once, but now no more so friended:
Thou my flocks hast had in feeding
From the morn till day was ended.

Drink and fodder, food and folding,
Had my lambs and ewes together:
I with them was still beholding,
Both in warmth and winter weather.

Now they languish, since refused,
Ewes and lambs are pained with pining:
I with ewes and lambs confused,
All unto our deaths declining.

Silence, leave thy cave obscured,
Deign a doleful swain to tender:
Though disdains I have endured,
Yet I am no deep offender.

Philip's son can with his finger
Hide his scar, it is so little:
Little sin a day to linger,
Wise men wander in a tittle.

Trifles yet my swain have turned,
Though my son he never showeth:
Though I weep, I am not mourned,
Though I want, no pity groweth.

Yet for pity, love my Muses,
Gentle silence be their cover:
They must leave their wonted uses,
Since I leave to be a lover.

They shall live with thee enclosed,
I will loathe my pen and paper:
Art shall never be supposed
Sloth shall quench the watching taper.

Kiss them, silence, kiss them kindly,
Though I leave them, yet I love them:
Though my wit have led them blindly,
Yet my swain did once approve them.

I will travel soils removed,
Night and morning never merry:
Thou shalt harbour that I loved,
I will love that makes me weary.

If perchance the shepherd strayeth,
In thy walks and shades unhaunted:
Tell the teen my heart betrayeth,
How neglect my joys have daunted.