And (carelesse) left me then behinde vnharmâ€™d:
How small a time did I this ioye essaie?
For presently enuious Fortune saide,
Staie loue, why passest thou so soone awaie?
Foorthwith the blinde boye turnâ€™d to me, and staide
Angry to see himselfe so checkt with blame,
For therâ€™s no blame, where his hot fire is laide:
Cupid was blinde, but well he spide his game:
So blinded bâ€¢ he, that he may see none,
That did so blinde my wit, and sence enflame:
O that I might reuenge my selfe of one
That wisheth harme to all, and will not free
(With his consent) not one poore hart alone:
Straight did the traytour arme his bowe, and he
with poysoned shaft did pierce my carelesse hart,
Which in his bowe he put, and aymâ€™d at me:
Fortune vnarmâ€™d did take me, for his parte
Loue neuer plaies, nor workes not any feate,
But on free soules, exempted from his darte:
A hardned hart his arrow brake hart with heate,
And brake a neuer subiect freedome, so
That I did yeeld, and his content was great:
O sole free quiet life that I forgo,
O meadowe seene so oft with freest eies,
Cursed be Loue, his arrowes, and his bowe:
Nowe follow loue, and what he doth deuise,
Come from securitie to greatest care,
And passe from rest, to thousand miseries:
See now how that a carefull hart doth fare,
Which lately was without suspect or thought
Subiect to be to such a tyrants snare.
O soule with teares vndone and brought to nought,
Now learne to suffer, since you learnâ€™d to see,
But what auailes, if this my Fortune wrought?
O wretched eies (if with this terme he be
Not angry) whom you savve vvith free consent,
Where haue you put and placâ€™d my libertie?
O meadovves, groues, and vvoods of svveete content,
Which bred so free a hart as I had heere,
So great an ill vvhy did you not preuent?
Svvift running brooke, and riuer pure and cleere,
Where once my flocke vvere wont to drinke their fill,
O euery season of the passing yeere,
Why haue you put me in a state so ill?
Since onely I did loue you, and these plaines,
And this most pleasant vale, and greenest hill.
Heere did I mocke a thousand Shepherd swaines:
Who now will laugh at me, when they shall knovv.