Go, my flock, go get you hence,
Seek a better place of feeding,
Where you may have some defence
From the storms in my breast breeding,
And showers from my eyes proceeding.
Leave a wretch, in whom all woe
Can abide to keep no measure,
Meyy flock, such one forego,
Unto whom mirth is displeasure,
Only rich in mischief's treasure.
Yet alas, before you go,
Hear you woeful master's story,
Which to stones I else would show:
Sorrow only then hath glory
When 'tis excellently sorry.
Stella, fiercest shepherdess,
Fiercest but yot fairest ever;
Stella, whom oh heav'ns do bless,
Though against me she persever,
Though I bliss inherit never.
Stella hath refused me,
Stella, who more love hath prov'd
In this caitiff heart to be,
Than can in good ewes be mov'd
Toward lambkins best belov'd.
Stella hath refused me,
Astrophil, that so well serv'd,
In this pleasant spring must see,
While in pride flowers be preserv'd,
Himself only winter-starv'd.
Why alas doth she then swear
That she loveth me so dearly,
Seeing me so long to bear
Coals of love that burn'd so clearly;
And yet leave me helpless merely?
Is that love? Forsooth, I trow,
If I saw my good dog griev'd,
And a help for him did know,
My love should not be believ'd
But he were by me reliev'd.
No, she hates me, wellaway,
Faining love, somewhat to please me:
For she knows, if she display
All her hate, death soon would seize me,
And of hideous torments ease me.
Then adieu, dear flock, adieu:
But alas, if in your straying
Heav'nly Stella meet with you,
Tell her in your piteous blaying,
Her poor slave's unjust decaying.
