Nowe each creature ioyes the other,
Passing happy daies and howers:
One byrd reports vnto another,
In the fall of siluer showers,
Whilst the earth our common mother,
Hath her bosome deckt with flowers.
Whilst the greatest torch of heauen,
With bright rayes warmes Floras lappe:
Making nights and dayes both euen,
Cheering plants with fresher sappe:
My field of flowers quite be-reauen,
Wants refresh of better happe.
Eccho daughter of the ayre,
Babbling gheste of Rocks and Hills,
Knowes the name of my fearce Fayre,
And soundes the accents of my ills:
Each thing pitties my dispaire,
Whilst that she her Louer kills.
Whilst that she O cruell Maide,
Doth me, and my true loue dispise:
My liues florish is decayde
That depended on her eyes:
But her will must be obaide,
And well he’ends for loue who dies.