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But (wofull soule) I say vnto it crying,
Syrenus speake, since now thy presence maketh
Aboade, where neuer once my thoughts surmized:
Say, in my soule art thou not onely prized?
But not a word it saieth,
And as before me there it staieth,
To speake, my soule doth pray it (in conclusion)
O what a braue delusion,
To aske a simple picture toong or sences?
O time, in what offences
Of vainest hope is my poore soule so subiect vnto his?
Sweete shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus is.

I neuer can go homeward with my sheepe,
When to the west the sunne begins to gyre,
Nor to the foldes returne from our towne,
But euery where I see, and (seeing) weepe
The sheepe cote of my ioy and sweete desire
Broken, decaied, and throwen vnto the ground:
Carelesse of lambes and sheepe, there sit I downe
A little while, vntill
The herdesmen feeding on the hill,
Cry out to me, saying, O Shepherdesse
What doe thy thoughts possesse,
And let thy sheepe goe feeding in the graine?
Our eies doe see it plaine:
For them the tender grasse in pleasant vales doth growe ywisse,
Sweete shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus is.

Yet in thine owne opinion greater reason
(Syrenus) it had bene, thus to haue started
With more constraint, and force then I did see yet,
But whom doe I accuse of guiltlesse treason?
For what could make him stay and not haue parted,
If fate and fortune thereto did agree yet?
No fault of thine it was, nor could it be yet
In my beleefe, haue ended
Thou wouldst in ought, or haue offended
Our loue so plaine and simple, as to leaue it
Nor will I once conceaue it,
Though many shewes and signes thereof there were yet:
O no, the fates did sweare it,
With cloudes of sorrow to obscure my heauen of ioy and blisse,
Sweete shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus is.

My song take heede thou goest where I betake thee,
Yet shalt thou not forsake me:
For it may be that fortune will with such a humour place thee,
That may terme thee importunate and by that meanes disgrace thee.