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But in his things who can him well aduise?
Or his deceites who spies?
O cruell Shepherdesse, O cruell brest.

Syrenus.
O cruell Shepherdesse, O cruell brest
Whose crueltie is no
Whit lesse then her braue beautie and her grace,
And my mishap and case:
How to my cost my sorrowes doe I knowe?

Syluanus.
My Shepherdesse, in white and red more cleere,
Then both those roses pluckt, in May we see:
And brighter then the sunne beames sent
From their coruscant Orient
By morning, that vpon thy foldes appeere:
How can I liue, if thou forgettest me?
My Shepherdesse, thy rigour then impaire,
For crueltie becomes not one so faire.

Syrenus.
My faire Diana more resplendant, then
The Emerauld, or Diamond in the night:
Whose beautious eies doe cease
My sorrowes, that increase,
if gently that (perhaps) to me they bend.
So maist thou with thy flocke so faire and vvhite,
Come to my shadovved sheepefold in the heate,
That such a vvretch thou vvould’st not ill intreate.

Syluanus.
My Shepherdesse, when that thy yellow haire
Thou combest in the beames of shining sunne,
Dost thou not see the same obscured?
My pride andioy by them procured?
That am from hence beholding it so faire,
Woon now with hope, now with despaire vndone,
But so maist thou thy beautie braue enioy,
As thou wouldst giue, ameane in such annoy.

Syrenus.
Diana, whose sweete name in all these hils
The wilde beastes tames, and crueltie rebates:
And whose surpassing beautie to it
Doth subiect fortune, and vndoe it.
And feares not loue, but wars against his wils:
Respecting not occasion, time, nor fates.

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