There dwelt sweet Philomel, who neuer more May bide th’abode of man’s societie, Lest that some sterner Tereus then before, Who cropt the flower of her virginitie, Gainst her should plot some second villanie: Whose dolefull tunes to minde did cause me call The woefull storie of her former fall. 97. The redbreast, who in bush fast by did stand As partner of her woes, his part did plie, For that the gifts, with which Autumnus hand Had grac’d the earth, by winter’s wrath should die, From whose cold cheekes bleake blasts began to flie Which made me think vpon my summer past And winter’s woes, which all my life should last. 98. My keeper with compassion mou’d to see, How griefe’s impulsions in my brest did beate, Thus silence broke: “Would God, my lord,” quoth he, “This pleasant land, which nature’s hand hath set Before your eyes, might cause you to forget Your discontent, the obiect of the eye Oft times giues ease to woes, which inward lie. 99. Behold vpon that mountaine’s top so steepe, Which seemes to pierce the cloudes and kisse the skie, How the gray shepheard driues his flock of sheepe Downe to the vale, and how on rockes fast by The goates frisk to and fro for iollitie: Giue eare likewise vnto these birds sweet songs, And let them cause you to forget your wrongs.” 100. To this I made replie: “Fond man,” said I, “What vnder heau’n can slack th’increasing woe, Which in my grieued hart doth hidden lie? Of choice delight what obiect canst thou show, But from the sight of it fresh griefe doth grow? What thou didst whilome point at to behold, The same the summe of sorrow doth infold. 101. That gray coat shepheard, whom from farre we see, I liken vnto thee, and those his sheepe Vnto my wreatched self compar’d may bee: And though that carefull pastor will not sleepe, When he from rauenous wolues his flock should keepe: Yet here, alas, in thrall thou keepest me, Vntill that woolfe my brother hungrie bee. 102. Those shaghair’d goates vpon the craggie hill, Which thou didst shew, see how they friske and play, And euerie where doe run about at will: Yea when the lion markes them for his prey, They ouer hils and rockes can flie away: But when that lion fell shall follow me To shed my blood, O whither shall I flee? 103.