=Colin.= PHILLISIDES is dead! O luckless age! O widow world! O brooks and fountains clear! O hills! O dales! O woods that oft have rung With his sweet carolling, which could assuage The fiercest wrath of tiger or of bear! Ye sylvans, fawns and satyrs, that emong These thickets oft have danced after his pipe! Ye Nymphs and Naiads with golden hair That oft have left your purest crystal springs To hearken to his lays, that coulden wipe Away all grief and sorrow from your hearts! Alas! who now is left that like him sings? When shall you hear again like harmony? So sweet a sound, who to you now imparts? Lo where engravèd by his hand yet lives The name of STELLA in yonder bay tree. Happy name! happy tree! Fair may you grow And spread your sacred branch, which honour gives, To famous emperors; and poets crown. Unhappy flock! that wander scattered now. What marvel if through grief, ye woxen lean, Forsake your food, and hang your heads adown? For such a shepherd never shall you guide; Whose parting, hath of weal bereft you clean. =Lycon.= PHILLISIDES is dead! O happy sprite! That now in heaven with blessèd souls dost bide. Look down awhile from where thou sitt'st above, And see how busy shepherds be to indite Sad songs of grief, their sorrows to declare; And grateful memory of their kind love. Behold myself with COLIN gentle swain, Whose learned Muse thou cherisht most whilere, Where we thy name recording, seek to ease The inward torment and tormenting pain That thy departure to us both hath bred; Ne can each other's sorrow yet appease. Behold the fountains now left desolate, And withered grass with cypress boughs bespread! Behold these flowers which on thy grave we strew! Which faded, show the givers' faded state; (Though eke they show their fervent zeal and pure) Whose only comfort on thy welfare grew. Whose prayers importune shall the heavens for aye, That to thy ashes, rest they may assure; That learnedst shepherds honour may thy name With yearly praises; and the nymphs alway, Thy tomb may deck with fresh and sweetest flowers; And that for ever may endure thy fame. =Colin.= The sun, lo, hastened hath his face to steep In western waves, and th'air with stormy showers, Warns us to drive homewards our silly sheep. LYCON! let's rise, and take of them good keep. _Virtute summa; cætera fortuna._ =L. B.= [Illustration] [Illustration] _An Elegy, or Friend's Passion_ _for his ASTROPHIL._ _Written upon the death of the Right Honourable Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Knight, Lord Governor of Flushing._ [Illustration]