Amintor's welladay

Chloris now thou art fled away,

Amintor's sheep are gone astray;

And all the joy he took to see,

His pretty lambs run after thee,

Is gone, is gone, and he alone,

Sings nothing now but welladay.

His oaten pipe that in thy praise

Was wont to play such roundelays,

Is thrown away, and not a swain

Dares pipe or sing, within his plain:

'Tis death for any now to say

One word to him but welladay.

The maypole where thy little feet

So roundly did in measures meet,

Is broken down, and no content

Comes near Amintor since you went.

All that I ever heard him say

Was Chloris, Chloris, welladay.

Upon those banks you us'd to tread

He ever since hath laid his head,

And whisper'd there such pining woe,

As not a blade of grass will grow;

O Chloris! Chloris! come away,

Until Amintor's welladay.