But first his sister that CLORINDA hight, The gentlest shepherdess that lives this day; And most resembling both in shape and sprite, Her brother dear, began this doleful lay. Which lest I mar the sweetness of the verse, In sort as she it sung, I will rehearse. [Illustration] "Aye me! to whom shall I, my case complain, That may compassion my impatient grief? Or where shall I unfold my inward pain That my enriven heart may find relief? Shall I unto the heavenly powers it show, Or unto earthly men that dwell below?" "To heavens! Ah, they, alas, the authors were And workers of my unremèdied woe; For they foresee what to us happens here, And they foresaw, yet suffered this be so. From them comes good, from them comes also ill; That which they made, who can them warn to spill?" "To men! Ah, they, alas, like wretched be And subject to the heaven's ordinance; Bound to abide whatever they decree, Their best redress, is their best sufferance. How then can they, like wretched, comfort me? The which no less, need comforted to be." "Then to myself, will I my sorrow mourn, Sith none alive like sorrowful remains; And to myself, my plaints shall back return, To pay their usury with doubled pains. The woods, the hills, the rivers shall resound The mournful accent of my sorrow's ground." "Woods, hills and rivers now are desolate; Sith he is gone the which them all did grace: And all the fields do wail their widow-state; Sith death, their fairest flower did late deface. The fairest flower in field that ever grew, Was ASTROPHEL: that 'was,' we all may rue." "What cruel hand of cursèd foe unknown, Hath cropped the stalk which bore so fair a flower? Untimely cropped, before it well were grown, And clean defacèd in untimely hour. Great loss to all that ever him see, Great loss to all, but greatest loss to me." "Break now your garlands, O ye shepherds' lasses! Sith the fair flower, which them adorned, is gone: The flower, which them adorned, is gone to ashes, Never again let lass put garland on. Instead of garland, wear sad cypress now; And bitter elder, broken from the bough." "Ne ever sing the love-lays which he made; Whoever made such lays of love as he? Ne ever read the riddles, which he said Unto yourselves, to make you merry glee. Your merry glee is now laid all abed, Your merry-maker now, alas! is dead." "Death! the devourer of all world's delight, Hath robbèd you, and reft from me my joy; Both you and me and all the world, he quite Hath robbed of joyance; and left sad annoy. Joy of the world! and shepherds' pride was he: Shepherds hope never, like again to see."