When will my May come, that I may embrace thee? When will the hower be of my soules ioying? Why dost thou seeke in mirthe still to disgrace mee? Whose mirth's my health, whose griefe's my harts annoying. Thy bane my bale, thy blisse my blessednes, Thy ill my hell, thy weale my welfare is. Thus doo I honour thee that loue thee so, And loue thee so, that so doo honour thee, Much more than anie mortall man doth know, Or can discerne by Loue or Iealozie: But if that thou disdainst my louing euer; Oh happie I, if I had loued neuer. _Finis._ _Plus fellis quam mellis Amor._ The second Dayes Lamentation of the _Affectionate Shepheard_. [Illustration] Next Morning when the golden Sunne was risen, And new had bid good morrow to the Mountaines; When Night her siluer light had lockt in prison, Which gaue a glimmering on the christall Fountaines: Then ended sleepe: and then my cares began, Eu'n with the vprising of the siluer Swan. O glorious Sunne quoth I, (viewing the Sunne) That lightenst euerie thing but me alone: Why is my Summer season almost done? My Spring-time past, and Ages Autumne gone? My Haruest's come, and yet I reapt no corne: My loue is great, and yet I am forlorne. Witnes these watrie eyes my sad lament (Receauing cisternes of my ceaseles teares), Witnes my bleeding hart my soules intent, Witnes the weight distressed _Daphnis_ beares: Sweet Loue, come ease me of thy burthens paine; Or els I die, or else my hart is slaine. And thou loue-scorning Boy, cruell, vnkinde; Oh let me once againe intreat some pittie: May be thou wilt relent thy marble minde, And lend thine eares vnto my dolefull Dittie: Oh pittie him, that pittie craues so sweetly; Or else thou shalt be neuer named meekly. If thou wilt loue me, thou shalt be my Boy, My sweet Delight, the Comfort of my minde, My Loue, my Doue, my Sollace, and my Ioy: But if I can no grace nor mercie finde, Ile goe to _Caucasus_ to ease my smart, And let a Vulture gnaw vpon my hart. Yet if thou wilt but show me one kinde looke (A small reward for my so great affection) Ile graue thy name in Beauties golden Booke, And shrowd thee vnder _Hellicons_ protection; Making the Muses chaunt thy louely prayse: (For they delight in Shepheards lowly layes.) And when th'art wearie of thy keeping Sheepe Vpon a louely Downe, (to please thy minde) Ile giue thee fine ruffe-footed Doues to keepe, And pretie Pidgeons of another kinde: A Robbin-red-brest shall thy Minstrell bee, Chirping thee sweet, and pleasant Melodie.