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The Sunne, for that it did decline,
The carelesse man did not offend
With firie beames, which scarce did shine,
But that which did of loue depend,
And in his hart did kindle fire
Of greater flames and hot desire.

Him did his passions all inuite,
The greene leaues blowne with gentle winde,
Cristalline streames with their delite,
And Nightingales were not behinde,
To helpe him in this louing verse,
Which to himselfe he did rehearse.

Syrenus his song.

A Farewell they departure call,
That loues delight did neuer knowe,
But that that endes with life and all,
I terme a greefe and endlesse woe.

God graunt therefore that all that space
My lingring life I might sustaine,
Vntill I see againe the place
Where my true hart doth still remaine.

For onely thinking to depart,
The thought doth make me so afraid,
That it must kill my trembling hart
With force of such great greefe apaid.

Syrenus did these verses sing,
And on his Rebecke sweetely play,
So far from ioy or ioyfull thing,
And from contentment any way:
That he could not pronounce his minde
For weeping, which was left behinde.

And now bicause he would not be
In fault, (if that his greefe and paine
The accents and the verse, which he
Pronounc’t, did hinder or restraine)
That which his willing minde did let,
His hart to end did not forget.

But after that the Shepherd had
With moornefull voice these verses soong,