Faire _Philomela_, cease thy sad complaint; And lend thine eares, vnto my dolefull Ditty: (Whose soule with sorrowe, now begins to faint, And yet I cannot moue mens hearts to pitty:) Thy woes are light, compared vnto mine: You waterie Nymphes, to mee your plaints resigne.
And thou _Melpomene_, (the Muse of Death) That neuer sing'st, but in a dolefull straine; Sith cruell Destinie hath stopt her breath, (Who whilst she liu'd, was Vertues Soueraigne Leaue _Hellicon_, (whose bankes so pleasant bee) And beare a part of sorrowe now with mee.
The Trees (for sorrowe) shead their fading Leaues, And weepe out gum, in stead of other teares; Comfort nor ioy, no Creature now conceiues, To chirpe and sing, each little bird forbeares. The sillie Sheepe, hangs downe his drooping head, And all because, that _Bounty_ she is dead.
The greater that I feele my griefe to be, The lesser able, am I to expresse it; Such is the nature of extremitie, The heart it som-thing eases, to confesse it. Therefore Ile wake my muse, amidst her sleeping, And what I want in wordes, supplie with weeping.
Weepe still mine eies, a Riuer full of Teares, To drowne my Sorrowe in, that so molests me; And rid my head of cares; my thoughts of feares: Exiling sweet Content, that so detests me. But ah (alas) my Teares are almost dun, And yet my griefe, it is but new begun.
Euen as the Sunne, when as it leaues our sight, Doth shine with those Antipodes, beneath vs; Lending the other worlde her glorious light, And dismall Darknesse, onely doeth bequeath vs: Euen so sweet _Bountie_, seeming dead to mee, Liues now to none, but smooth-Tongd Flatterie.
O _Adulation_, Canker-worme of Truth; The flattring Glasse of Pride, and Self-conceit: (Making olde wrinkled Age, appeare like youth) Dissimulations Maske, and follies Beate: Pittie it is, that thou art so rewarded, Whilst Truth and Honestie, goe vnregarded.
O that Nobilitie, it selfe should staine, In being bountifull, to such vile Creatures: Who, when they flatter most, then most they faine; Knowing what humor best, will fit their Natures. What man so mad, that knowes himselfe but pore, And will beleeue that he hath riches store.
Vpon a time, the craftie Foxe did flatter The foolish Pye (whose mouth was full of meate) The Pye beleeuing him, began to chatter, And sing for ioy, (not hauing list to eate) And whil'st the foolish Pye, her meate let fall, The craftie Foxe, did runne awaie with all.